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Part I - Conceptual Approach

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  20 July 2025

Kcasey McLoughlin
Affiliation:
The University of Newcastle, Australia
Rosemary Grey
Affiliation:
University of Sydney
Louise Chappell
Affiliation:
University of New South Wales, Sydney
Suzanne Varrall
Affiliation:
University of New South Wales, Sydney

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Chapter
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Publisher: Cambridge University Press
Print publication year: 2025
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This content is Open Access and distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution licence CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/cclicenses/

Part I Conceptual Approach

2 Introduction Feminist Judgments and the International Criminal Court

Introduction

In the past decade, feminist scholars and women’s rights activists have reimagined the relationship between law and gender justice using the feminist judgment method, resulting in rewritten ‘feminist’ judgments from courts in the United States, United Kingdom, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and India.Footnote 1 Further extending the catalogue, we have seen publication of the international law project,Footnote 2 and domestic projects specialising in substantive areas of law.Footnote 3 Breaking new ground, this book is the first to apply the feminist judgment method to analyse decisions of the International Criminal Court (ICC), the Hague-based court with power to prosecute war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocide, and aggression in over 123 countries. Reflecting an international and intersectional feminism,Footnote 4 and drawing inspiration from collections that have enriched the feminist judgment method with indigenous, critical race, and queer perspectives,Footnote 5 the book’s contributors include nearly fifty authors, of all genders, from almost twenty different countries including from African, Asian, and Middle Eastern countries where the ICC has been active. Bringing their diverse theoretical approaches, professional experience, and cultural backgrounds to the book, these contributors explore the connections between gender, race, nationality, ethnicity, faith, and sexual orientation in relation to the law and practice of the ICC.

Created in 1998 by the Rome Statute, the ICC is responsible for prosecuting those individuals most responsible for war crimes, crimes against humanity, aggression, and genocide.Footnote 6 The decisions of the ICC’s judges, who are elected by state parties to the Rome Statute, have far-reaching consequences. Not only are these decisions influential within the ICC; they also function as persuasive precedents in other international, regional, and national criminal courts.

Although the terms ‘gender-sensitive judging’ or ‘feminist judging’ are not used in the Rome Statute, this treaty provides a firmer foothold for such an approach than the statute of any other international court. Its provisions enumerate a wide range of sexual and gender-based crimes, require that the law be interpreted and applied without adverse diction on gender grounds, and incentivise the election of both female judges and judges (of any sex or gender) with legal expertise on violence against women.Footnote 7 The Rome Statute is also the first to recognise the crime against humanity of persecution on ‘gender’ grounds – a crime which the Court has now applied in several situations including Mali and Afghanistan, where women and girls have been stripped of their rights and subjected to forced marriage and other sexual crimes; the Central African Republic and Darfur, in respect of mass killings of civilian men and boys by attacking forces; and Nigeria, where attacks on girls’ schools, the use of female suicide bombers, and sex-selective attacks on men and boys have been described by the ICC Prosecutor’s Office as gender-based persecution.

The book extends existing gender-oriented analyses of the ICC, which have tended to focus on how investigation and prosecution strategies have contributed to the ICC’s initial failure to secure convictions for sexual and gender-based crimes, and its more recent advances in this regard.Footnote 8 Building on that work, our book focuses on a relatively under-examined dimension to ICC scholarship by examining the role that judges have played, and can play, in adjudicating those crimes. In this way, the book draws lessons from the extensive research on gender-sensitive judging in domestic courts,Footnote 9 bringing together insights from feminist scholarship in both national and international law.Footnote 10 By distilling the lessons learned from previous feminist judgment projects, this book illuminates new possibilities for feminist interventions in international criminal law.

In addition to being the first book to apply the feminist judgment method to a range of ICC cases,Footnote 11 it also advances and adapts the method for use in an international court that serves a global constituency and includes features of both common law and civil law systems. At times, taking a feminist perspective also compels our contributors to venture beyond the tasks ordinarily performed by ICC judges (interpreting and applying law, and making findings of fact), in order to discuss the shortcomings in international criminal law itself. Such critical reflections on law, while rare in real-life judicial analysis, are not unheard of,Footnote 12 and provide a thought-provoking counterpoint to the more conventional feminist judgments in this collection.

Structure of the Book

The book commences with a foreword by Navi Pillay, former judge of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) and ICC, which anchors this collection in real-world judicial experience. Among other things, Pillay reflects on being a judge in the first case to confirm that sexual violence can be an act of genocide (the ICTR’s Akayesu case), and on accusations of bias that were levied against her and other judges who brought a conspicuous gender-sensitivity to their work. Following the foreword, Maxine Beneba Clarke’s poem ‘The Hope of a Thousand Small Lights’ serves as the preface to this book. Beneba Clarke envisions the ICC as both the mechanism for, and barrier to, justice. This chapter sets out the book’s contents and explains some of the editorial decisions we have taken, reflecting on questions of inclusion and exclusion.

Part I: Conceptual Approach

This introduction is followed by a series of chapters which set out the book’s key concepts. These chapters frame the book’s central provocation – how might the ICC’s judgments have been different if a commitment to gender equality, and an awareness of gendered power relations, were at the forefront of the judges’ minds? In the first of those framing chapters (Chapter 3), lead editor Kcasey McLoughlin asks, ‘Do Feminists Believe in Fairytales?’ as we seek to make the case for another feminist judgment project, interrogating the role of imagination in judgment and pondering the possibilities and dilemmas of judgment writing as feminist method. This chapter is followed by two ‘in conversation’ pieces. In the first, Patricia Sellers, the ICC Prosecutor’s Special Advisor on Slavery Crimes, engages in a thought experiment with co-editor Rosemary Grey, reimagining what the ICC’s jurisprudence on slavery crimes might have looked like had relevant cases in previous international criminal tribunals been decided differently (Chapter 4). By exploring those jurisprudential ‘gaps’, Sellers posits that recent decisions at the ICC, but also within previous international criminal tribunals, are hamstrung by the reticence and failures of past jurists to identify and label crimes accurately. The second ‘in conversation’ piece, between human rights lawyer Angela Mudukuti and co-editor Louise Chappell, highlights the lived experience of a practitioner navigating the implementation and tenuous shifting understandings of international criminal law (Chapter 5). Mudukuti emphasises the central importance of taking an intersectional approach to gender justice at the ICC, and the challenges that remain in achieving that aim.

The book turns to two reflections on the importance of intersectional gender analysis in the ICC, one by political scientist Jarpa Dawuni (Chapter 6) and another by international criminal lawyer Priya Gopalan (Chapter 7). As Gopalan argues in her piece, ‘intersectionality can make visible other pertinent factors and structural inequalities, alongside gender, that are often disregarded or overlooked’. In Chapter 6, Dawuni explores the merits and demerits of intersectionality as a tool for feminist judgments. Questioning ‘whose feminism’, she argues that in engaging in feminist reimagination ‘we must begin from a place of a feminist recasting of the challenges, social hierarchies, barriers, constraints, and opportunities that give rise to, maintain, and advance the multiple discriminations, exclusions, and erasures some groups of people face in societies across the world’.

Part II: ICC Judgments Reimagined

The second part of the book includes the rewritten ICC judgments. Each rewritten judgment begins with a brief outline, added by the editorial team, to orient readers. Some comments about the way that ICC cases are organised will assist readers to navigate this part of the book.

The ICC’s proceedings are organised into ‘situations’ (a matter with jurisdictional boundaries both temporal and geographic, such as the situation concerning war crimes and crimes against humanity allegedly committed in Uganda since 2002) and ‘cases’ (proceedings against a particular person or persons, such as the case against former Lord’s Resistance Army commander Dominic Ongwen). Rewriting judgments from every ‘situation’ that has come before the ICC was not feasible. However, in an effort to achieve broad coverage, the book’s contributions address nine ICC situations: Afghanistan, Bangladesh/Myanmar, Central African Republic (I and II), Côte d’Ivoire, Democratic Republic of Congo, Mali, Sudan, and Uganda (Table 2.1).

Table 2.1 Rewritten judgments in this book, by situation and case

SituationCase (if applicable)Rewritten decisions
AfghanistanN/a2019 decision on the Prosecutor’s application to open an investigation
Bangladesh/MyanmarN/a2019 Pre-Trial Chamber decision on the Prosecutor’s application to open an investigation
Central African Republic I and IIBemba case
  • 2008 Pre-Trial Chamber arrest warrant decision

  • 2009 Pre-Trial Chamber confirmation of charges decision

  • 2016 Trial Chamber sentencing decision

  • 2018 appeal judgment

Yekatom case2020 Pre-Trial Chamber decision on Prosecutor’s application to amend the charges
Côte d’Ivoire(Simone) Gbagbo case
  • 2012 Pre-Trial Chamber arrest warrant decision

  • 2014 Pre-Trial decision on admissibility of the case

Democratic Republic of CongoLubanga case2015 Appeals Chamber decision on reparations
Ntaganda case
  • 2017 Trial Chamber decision on jurisdiction over Counts 6 and 9 (sexual crimes against child soldiers)

  • 2019 trial judgment

MaliAl Mahdi case
  • 2016 Trial Chamber judgment and sentencing decision

  • 2017 Trial Chamber reparations order

Al Hassan case2018 Pre-Trial Chamber arrest warrant decision
SudanAl Bashir case
  • 2010 Pre-Trial Chamber arrest warrant decision (genocide)

  • 2019 Appeals Chamber decision on head-of-state immunity

Abd-al-Rahman case
  • 2021 Pre-Trial Chamber confirmation of charges decision

  • 2021 Pre-Trial decision on appointment of victims’ legal representatives

UgandaOngwen case
  • 2021 trial judgment

  • 2021 Trial Chamber sentencing decision

These nine situations include crimes allegedly or proven to be perpetrated by nationals of African and Asian countries, as well as crimes allegedly committed by members of America’s Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). This selection is intended to reflect the fact that in reality, although past and present ICC proceedings have focused primarily on perpetrators from the Global South, they have also implicated, to varying degrees, state officials and military personnel from the United States, United Kingdom, Israel, and Russia.

Within these nine situations, each of the cases is enormous, when compared with most criminal proceedings in domestic courts. Before a case is even opened, there may be need for a judicial decision to authorise an investigation by the Office of the Prosecutor.Footnote 13 This was necessary in relation to the Myanmar/Bangladesh and Afghanistan situations, for example. Once an investigation has been conducted and suspects have been identified, a typical ICC case will often run for over a decade, and will include hundreds (if not thousands) of judicial decisions. For example, every case includes first-instance decisions (and often appeal decisions) on whether to issue an arrest warrant, whether to confirm the charges, and whether those charges have been proven beyond reasonable doubt. In the event of a conviction, there are further sentencing and reparations decisions. Most cases also include decisions about whether the case is already being adjudicated in a national court, whether fresh evidence is admissible, and whether the fair trial rights of the accused are being upheld.

Because ICC cases are so large, each of the rewritten decisions in this book focuses on just one issue of law, fact, or procedure that was addressed in the original judgment (some of which were identified by the contributors, and some suggested by the editors). This ‘single-issue’ approach is sensible because ICC judgments tend to be highly complex and lengthy (some exceeding 1,000 pages), with the result that rewriting the entire judgment would not be feasible.

We organised the rewritten judgments by situation and chronologically. Thus, we begin with the Democratic of Congo, which in 2004 became the first situation under investigation by the ICC, and we end with Afghanistan, which despite being under preliminary examination since 2007, did not progress to a formal investigation until 2020. Each situation is preceded by what we have termed as ‘reflections’ that introduce the relevant conflict, place the rewritten judgment within the context of the original judgment, and then critically reflect upon the reimagined work. Each reflection writer was also asked to consider how they might envision a different outcome, within or outside the bounds of the law, thus highlighting both opportunities for and constraints on transforming the ICC’s practice.

The final intervention in Part II is not a rewritten ICC judgment, but a poem. Sara Saleh’s compelling piece, ‘The Checkpoint’, evokes the daily realities of life in Palestine, drawing links with other colonised, indigenous, and subjugated peoples. By including Saleh’s poem as the final contribution in the ‘judgments’ section, we hope to inspire readers to consider the future potential and work of the ICC, and to reflect on the lived experience of those affected by conflict but who are rarely seen or heard by international criminal law.

Part III: Conclusion

The book’s conclusion reflects on the feminist judgment methodology and the ICC’s legacy after two decades in operation. We observe that one of the major themes to emerge from this collection is the need for judges to make decisions from the perspective of the context and lived experiences of those suffering from international crimes. We argue that this book demonstrates the enormous transformative potential of judges, and the opportunity to enhance gender justice in the ICC, while also recognising the challenges confronting the Court given the destabilising realpolitik of the current historical period.

Editorial Decisions: Collaboration, Context, and Omissions

It is important to contextualise and explain some of our editorial decisions regarding the selection of situations, judgments, and contributors.

Situations

Between July 2002, when the Rome Statute entered into force, and October 2023, when we completed this book, the ICC had instigated proceedings in twenty-eight situations concerning alleged crimes in twenty-six countries (twelve African states;Footnote 14 seven Asia and Pacific states;Footnote 15 two Eastern European states;Footnote 16 and four Latin American and Caribbean statesFootnote 17), and on flagships of Comoros, Greece, and Cambodia. Some of these situations have advanced so far as to include cases against specific individuals, some remain under investigation, and some have gone no further than the initial preliminary examination stage. Mostly, the alleged perpetrators have come from countries in the Global South. But, as shown in Table 2.2, they have included nationals from what the UN calls the ‘Western European and Other’ (WEOG) bloc.Footnote 18

Table 2.2 ICC situations and cases as of October 2023

SituationProgress to dateStates where alleged crimes occurredStates of which suspects/defendants are nationals
1AfghanistanInvestigationAsia and PacificWOEG; Asia and Pacific
2Bangladesh/MyanmarInvestigationAsia and PacificAsia and Pacific
3BoliviaPreliminary examinationLatin American and CaribbeanLatin American and Caribbean
4BurundiInvestigationAfricanAfrican
5CAR ICasesAfricanAfrican
6CAR IICasesAfricanAfrican
7ColumbiaPreliminary examinationLatin American and CaribbeanLatin American and Caribbean
8Côte d’IvoireCasesAfricanAfrican
9DRC ICasesAfricanAfrican
10DRC IIPreliminary examinationAfricanAfrican
11Comoros, Greece, and CambodiaPreliminary examinationAfrican; WEOG; Asia and PacificWEOG
12GabonPreliminary examinationAfricanAfrican
13GeorgiaCasesEastern EuropeanEastern European
14GuineaPreliminary examinationAfricanAfrican
15HondurasPreliminary examinationLatin American and CaribbeanLatin American and Caribbean
16Iraq/UKPreliminary examinationAsia and PacificWEOG
17KenyaCasesAfricanAfrican
18LibyaCasesAfricanAfrican
19MaliCasesAfricanAfrican
20NigeriaPreliminary examinationAfricanAfrican
21PalestineInvestigationAsia and PacificWEOG; Asia and Pacific
22PhilippinesInvestigationAsia and PacificAsia and Pacific
23Republic of KoreaPreliminary examinationAsia and PacificAsia and Pacific
24SudanCasesAfricanAfrican
25UgandaCasesAfricanAfrican
26UkraineCasesEastern EuropeanEastern European
27Venezuela IInvestigationLatin American and CaribbeanLatin American and Caribbean
28Venezuela IIPreliminary examinationLatin American and CaribbeanLatin American and Caribbean

As feminist researchers, the question of which of these many situations and cases to include was a difficult one. Given our time and resource constraints, it was not feasible to include every possible option. But any decision to include a case necessarily meant a decision to exclude others. In making that choice, we very much wanted to avoid replicating patterns of inclusion and exclusion which, in the real world, mean that crimes committed in certain places, especially in relation to the ICC, in Africa, receive significantly greater condemnation, and significantly more effective responses, than others. This concern has, quite validly, been raised about the ICC’s swift response to Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine compared with its slower response to humanitarian crises in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East,Footnote 19 but it is a perennial problem that preceded the Ukraine crisis. With this in mind, we were committed to selecting situations concerning crimes including in the part of the world where we are situated (the Asia-Pacific), with some alleged perpetrators from the WEOG region even though they remain under-represented in the ICC’s caseload to date.

Alongside that consideration, we were also committed to selecting cases that would enable our judgment writers to grapple with a wide range of legal issues. ‘Not only rape cases’, we said, echoing other feminist scholars and lawyers who have called for a gender analysis in international criminal law that includes but goes beyond the issue of sexual crimes against female victims.Footnote 20 This is not to suggest that there is no more to say on that particular issue; to the contrary, there is great scope for ICC judgments to more sensitively and more fairly adjudicate crimes of sexual violence, as many of the rewritten decisions in this book show. But we also wanted to explore the possibilities for gender analysis on issues that remain on the fringes of feminist scholarship in international law. This motivated us to include judgments on the ICC’s complementarity principle, on immunity from prosecution, on crimes with no obvious sexual content (such as deportation and pillage), and on what the Rome Statute calls ‘grounds for excluding criminal responsibility’ (that is, defences), for example.

A factor that we chose to prioritise was seeking input from a diversity of authors – scholars, practitioners, or other experts, including those with lived experience of the conflicts that have come before the ICC. To this end, we circulated an open call for contributions on widely read international law blogs, asked colleagues to share the call with their networks, and offered support such as training in feminist judgment methods and access to research assistants and library resources, in order to diversify and enrich our pool of contributors. This process informed our selection of situations because where we had the option of including contributors from countries where the ICC has been active, we were especially motivated to include those countries so as to make full use of the contributors’ expertise and experience.

The nine situations that we eventually settled upon reflect these various considerations and constraints. This enables our authors to consider crimes alleged to have been perpetrated in a range of African and Asian countries, including crimes allegedly committed by nationals of a Western country, and enables the book to explore a wide range of legal issues including (but not limited to) sexual violence against males, females, and third-sex people, and to engage with the three categories of crimes that have been adjudicated in the ICC so far, namely war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide.

Although our selection of situations and countries strikes a balance between all of the important considerations outlined above, we are the first to admit that it is imperfect and incomplete. To their credit, some of our contributors have, in principled and respectful ways, queried our selection decisions. We recognise the integrity and the value of these interventions, and have responded as best we could, given our constraints. Indeed, in selecting which situations and cases would be represented in this collection, we also found ourselves chafing against some of the drawbacks of the feminist judgment method. For example, we struggled with the fact that this method replicates existing gaps in the ICC’s jurisprudence, because the task is to rewrite judgments that have actually been made by the Court (a point underscored in Patricia Sellers’ contribution on the impact of ‘absent jurisprudence’ in Chapter 4). Thus, the method does not address the multitude of cases that could theoretically come before the ICC but are yet to do so, despite repeated calls for accountability by survivors and their supporters. We were also conscious that the craft of feminist judgment writing requires a high level of legal literacy, which limits the pool of contributors to those with legal training.

Acknowledging these limitations, we included several artistic contributions, in the form of two commissioned poetic reflections on the ICC (Chapters 1 and 18), as well as three photographic essays (Chapter 15). As already noted, in the first poem, Maxine Beneba Clarke weaves the potential embodied by the reimagined judgments through often untold stories about law and how its institutions touch our lives. The second poem, Sara Saleh’s ‘The Checkpoint’, provides a personal perspective on a long-running conflict which continues to take a heavy toll on Palestinian and Israeli civilians. The inclusion of these poems is intended to transcend, symbolically at least, some of the constraints of the feminist judgment method. That is, we wanted to include voices not draped in the (imagined) trappings of judicial authority, in a further acknowledgement of the limits of the law. Responding to reflections by some of our contributors, the poems also extend the book’s reach beyond the nine situations from which the judgments are sourced, in order to consider other sites of oppression, colonial domination, and violence.

In addition to the poetic interventions, the book contains three photographic essays featuring the works of Rohingya refugees Azimul Hassan, Omal Khair, and Dil Kayas, who fled persecution in Myanmar in 2017 for the relative security of life in the world’s largest refugee camp in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh. In 2018, Fortify Rights, an international human rights non-governmental organisation (NGO) that has been working in Myanmar for over a decade, along with Doha Debates, provided Hassan, Khair, and Kayas with smart phones and on-the-ground photography and media skills training in order to visually document and communicate their experiences of life in the camp. They have since established sizeable followings on Instagram, published a book of their photographs,Footnote 21 and won an award for their work.Footnote 22 The inclusion of Hassan, Khair, and Kayas’ photographs at the conclusion of the Bangladesh/Myanmar section in Part II of the book contributes a powerful visual expression of the ongoing impacts of atrocities committed in Myanmar, by illustrating in full colour the people and lives at the centre of the foregoing rewritten decisions. The editors’ decision to include photographs in the book in this way represents an attempt not only to go beyond the feminist judgment method and the limits of legal reasoning, but to break free of the constraints of the written word itself, transcending language and literacy barriers in the way that only an image can. These photographs are intended to complement the rewritten decisions on the Bangladesh/Myanmar situation, but also as a reminder that the individuals and lives that are rendered in black and white, through words on a page, in all of the rewritten ICC judgments in this book, exist beyond and outside of the confines of a judicial decision.

Our hope is that this book is the beginning of road for feminist judgment writing in international criminal law, but may pave the way for further projects which reach places, stories, and ideas beyond those covered in this book.

The agonising fact that after our selection was made the world continued to see the outbreak of new conflicts and escalation of others is one that also warrants discussion. For example, the book does not include a gender analysis of the crime of aggression because Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine occurred once our project was well underway. Nor could we have predicted the intensification of violence in Gaza and Israel following Hamas’ actions in October 2023 and Israel’s response, which is occurring in real time at a sickening pace as we go to print, claiming the lives of thousands of civilians, many of them children. That these and so many other conflicts erupted and morphed throughout our writing process meant that decisions we made when setting the scope of the book feel different several years later. This is a challenge for any scholarly enterprise that responds to events unfolding in real time, and invites reflection on how future feminist judgment collections might be designed so as to be more responsive to developments in the real world.

Contributors

Contributors to the book include academics, practitioners, poets, and photographers. In terms of the contributing judgment and reflections authors, the editors sought to ensure this cohort was reflective of an international and intersectional feminism,Footnote 23 and the book includes nearly fifty authors, of all genders, from almost twenty different countries. Bringing their diverse theoretical approaches, professional experience, and cultural backgrounds to the book, these contributors explore the connections between gender, race, nationality, ethnicity, faith, and sexual orientation in relation to the law and practice of the ICC. It was important to the editorial team that the book included perspectives from leading feminist scholars in international law as well as emerging voices in the field. This diversity among contributors was particularly important to us, in light of the relative homogeneity of our editorial team.

The selected authors include leading professors as well as emerging scholarly voices, international criminal law practitioners, and many current or former ICC/UN tribunal lawyers. This group includes people of all genders, several of whom hail from ICC situation countries, including Afghanistan, Kenya, Uganda, Myanmar, Palestine, and Bangladesh. All contributors share a commitment to feminist judgment writing, but bring diverse theoretical perspectives including Third World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL) and queer theory. Others bring experience from legal practice, including as prosecutors, defence counsel, victims’ counsel, and judicial officers. This diversity ensures a broad range of perspectives and, we hope, enables the book to speak to broad readerships and networks.

Methodology: Feminist Judgment Writing and Reflection
Context

As feminist scholars it is important to reflect upon the personal and political circumstances in which this project was completed. Against the backdrop of a global pandemic, the lines of demarcation between the public and private blurred as many of us worked from home. The gendered dimensions of this blurring have not been fully appreciated, but early researchFootnote 24 and the reflections of contributors to this project well demonstrate the gendered nature of care. In this important respect, this is a very much a book produced in the time of COVID. Just as many real-life courts moved online, so did our project. Most meetings moved online, and although this had some drawbacks in terms of facilitating the in-person connections which have been the hallmark of previous feminist judging projects, it also made the process far more accessible to those with funding limitations, work commitments, environmental concerns, and caring responsibilities that make travelling to in-person meetings difficult.

Aside from the global phenomenon of COVID, while in no way diminishing its impact, contributors to this project concurrently experienced the full gambit of life circumstances that often occur behind the scenes of large projects. Within the wider team we marked the birth of a number of children, as well as encountering grief and loss, health challenges, and other struggles including childcare and financial hardships. Others had to contend with climate disasters and emergencies. Global conflict was never far from the minds of those within the project, and we recognise that a number of contributors were living, if not with active conflict, then with the challenges of post-conflict settings. Contributors were also promoted, changed careers, and embarked on new adventures and achieved outstanding goals. The influences, and unique adventures and trials, have no doubt shaped the final thoughts and considerations of all involved in ways that would not have been contemplated at the beginning of this project.

Process

In June 2021 we hosted two online workshops (offered at different times to accommodate different time zones) to introduce the methodology, set out a timeline, and build connections between collaborators. We facilitated participant roundtable discussions, inviting contributors to discuss what excited them about the project. Some contributors presented ‘elevator pitches’ about their ideas for writing their chosen judgment. In terms of introducing the feminist judgment methodology, we engaged our contributors in a discussion of a rewritten judgment from the Australian project to promote discussion about what made the piece feminist.

As part of these initial workshops, we also shared pre-recordings of interviews conducted by the editorial team with participants in previous feminist judgment projects: Heather Douglas (one of the editors of the Australian Feminist Judgment Project) and Catherine O’Rourke (one of the contributors to the Irish/Northern Irish Project).Footnote 25 These interviews provided a helpful grounding in the genre of judgment writing, with both providing insightful reflections and advice about the challenges which stem from donning the imagined judicial robes to produce a plausible legal judgment (in ways that they may not previously have attempted as academics) and ensure that the judgment is feminist. O’Rourke reflected on the framework of the original judgment as a ‘useful guardrail’ which she used as a vehicle to ‘grow into’ her judgment. Douglas encouraged contributors to ‘throw out’ the original judgment, starting with a blank page rather than tinkering with the original judgment, while also ‘dropping the idea that you had to actually decide differently’, meaning that the rewritten judgment might reach the same conclusion as the original judgment, but through different reasoning. These meditations on avenues to pursue provided options and scope for our own participants to work in a way that suited their own approach.

In response to submitted proposals, we were fortunate to be able to provide participants with an interview with Rosemary Hunter, one of the editors of the UK Feminist Judgment Project (and editor and valued advisor to many subsequent projects). Hunter’s guidance built on her 2010 ‘checklist’ for feminist judging, reminding participants that ‘authority is not incompatible with feminism’ and that the power of language will assist in allowing them to don the judicial robes, depart from the academic genre, and engage with the judicial voice. Memorably, this was condensed to the phrase ‘just do it’. The generosity extended by these colleagues created a valuable bridge between this project and those within the global feminist judgment methodology community, and provided useful practical guidance for our contributors. We are grateful for their time and expertise in helping our participants craft their contributions.

Rounding off our series of video resources to support contributors in finalising their judgments was an interview between the editors, Rosemary Grey and Kcasey McLoughlin. This interview focused on specific mechanisms, rules, and procedures which operate within the ICC, assisting the participants in bolstering the plausibility of their rewritten judgment. Grey encouraged participants to dive deeply into the source material, to find evidence or legal arguments which may have been overlooked or disregarded in the real judgment, especially in ensuring that victims’ perspectives are heard, and to consider the Court’s power to change the legal characterisation of facts where appropriate.Footnote 26

Although practical reasons restricted face-to-face engagement, we were still determined to work in a collaborative way, utilising the skills and expertise of all involved to create a supportive, peer-driven experience for both judgment and reflection writers. To achieve this, we organised online ‘discussion circles’ to enable contributors to participate in a facilitated peer-review process and benefit from each other’s creativity and expertise. This also permitted reflection writers to attend and gain an understanding of the individual approach of the judgment writers, strengthening the reflective chapters.

Beyond organising these meetings, we also encouraged contributors to reach out to each other for support and feedback in an attempt to further community building within the project itself. The editorial team additionally provided individual and general feedback on each judgment outline, and then later on the draft judgments. This was supplemented by material put together by the editorial team which sought to provide guidance on issues of evidence, facts and law at the ICC more specifically. As editors, it was important to us, following previous projects, not to be overly prescriptive about what counts as ‘feminist’. For the most part, our feedback was not concerned with tone or style, but rather the plausibility of the judgment. That is, did the judgment read as legally tenable, even if the authors chose to depart from the style and conventions typically used in ICC judgments. While asked to stay within the bounds of the Rome Statute, our judges were encouraged to find their own authentic judicial voice, and we kept an open mind when contributors defended their decision to take their rewritten judgment in a direction that we had not anticipated.

The resulting judgments are as diverse as the contributors who wrote them. Some opted to adhere strictly to the traditional feminist judgment methodology, whereby their judgment reflects the formulations, rules, and structure of the original judgments while also focusing on concepts and evidence that were not afforded attention. Other contributors were perhaps more disruptive of the method – pushing the bounds of plausibility (at least insofar as the Court is currently constituted) and imagination. For example, Rigney’s abolitionist approach, McKay’s imposition of a non-carceral sentence, and Zarsky and Irving’s creation of an ‘additional comment’ have not been canvassed within the current judgments of the ICC, but they challenged us to consider what might be possible if the role of the judge was reimagined in more radical ways. The wealth of possibilities expose the rigidity of the current ICC system and missed opportunities to deliver gender justice, as well as highlighting potential ways forward for the Court.

The final submitted judgments were then passed to the reflection writers. Engaging in their own discussion circles, reflection writers were invited to read the reimagined judgments and compare them with the original, finding thematic lines for all the judgments within their situation. While the reflections are also as varied as those who authored them, all follow a similar structure. First, a brief contextual overview is offered, whereby key actors, events, judgments, and outcomes are identified to help situate the reader. Attention then moves to how the judgments differ from or align with the original judgment, interrogating what makes the reimagined judgment ‘feminist’. Finally, the reflection offers a critical appraisal of the possibilities that ensue when gender is seriously considered within judicial deliberations. Where the reflection writer has considered it appropriate, they have also offered commentary on the approach undertaken by the judgment writer. Following the suggestion from reflection writer Immi Tallgren, this approach allowed the judgment and reflection writers the opportunity to ‘think outside of the box’,Footnote 27 not only to explore their own interpretation of the feminist judgment method but also to offer their own thoughts about what a more gender-sensitive international criminal law system might look like. Some respectfully disagree with the approach undertaken by the judgment writer while others prefer to draw attention to the context-specific realities that underpin the judgment in the first instance. Although judgment writers were not asked to respond to the reflection chapters in this book, contributors are free to continue to express and exchange ideas in other forums.

Focus

This project aligns with previous feminist and critical judgment projects whereby the intention is to suspend disbelief, thereby allowing the judgments to be read as legally plausible. The desire was to clearly demonstrate that each Chamber of the ICC had the ability to come to the judgment, within the parameters of the ICC’s legal system, and based on the information that was available at the time, but that the current systems and processes of thinking utilised by the Court interfered with that outcome. We therefore encouraged contributors to adhere to the information that was available to the Court at the time. We suggested scouring the testimony, documentary evidence, and expert evidence that had been submitted in the relevant case, even if it had not been cited in the real decision, to locate the reimagined decision within the ambit of the Court, reflecting the strict/classical feminist judgment method adhering to admissibility rules.

As we acknowledge, however, that part of the feminist judgment method is also disrupting the traditional paradigms of judicial processes; where contributors sourced material outside of these parameters, we decided not to be too restrictive. For example, Radhakrishnan and Shubin’s judgment (about genocide in Darfur) cites some sources which post-date 4 March 2009, but have been retained for pedagogical purposes with an asterisk (*) notation because they are relevant and valuable sources that might assist with subsequent genocide decisions by the ICC and other courts. We also encouraged contributors to make full use of the ICC’s legal framework, such as the provisions permitting the Court to request evidenceFootnote 28 or to invite submissions from amici curiae.Footnote 29 Therefore, contributors were able to note the lack of evidence they wished to consider, such as social harms or gendered roles, and demonstrate the need for such evidence for a full determination to be made.

The second core focus was developing rewritten judgments that are ‘feminist’, focusing on and highlighting the lived experiences and evidence that is often dismissed or relegated at the ICC. Although we as editors wanted to leave space for our contributors to bring their own conceptions of feminism to the project, we were guided by Hunter’s ‘checklist’Footnote 30 for what constitutes feminist judging, such as asking the ‘woman’ question, including women and other marginalised actors, challenging gender bias on both legal doctrine and judicial reasoning, reasoning from context and with awareness of power relations, foregrounding the reality of women’s lived experience, trying to redress ‘injustices and improve the conditions of women’s lives’, promoting substantive equality, and drawing on ideas from feminist literature).

But going beyond that checklist, we also encouraged contributors to consider intersectional feminist analysis, and to amplify the voices of victims/survivors where possible. Contributors interpreted these cues in different ways. For example, Anushka Sehmi’s reimagined judgment emphasises the importance of giving victims agency in the ICC, and Souheir Edelbi’s judgment places victims at the centre of the ‘interests of justice test’. Combining these ‘feminist’ techniques with other critical approaches, such as queer approaches and TWAIL approaches, were also welcome. The result of this process and focus is twenty-seven rewritten decisions that critically engage with international criminal law, demonstrating that within the current system, there is scope to render decisions that are feminist, victim-focused, and plausible.

Imagining New Boundaries

The book unites two distinct fields of research. First, we hope that it will be relevant to a global audience of international criminal law scholars, students, and practitioners. Today, international criminal law is practised in multiple institutions, including: the Hague-based ICC, the UN stand-alone investigations into Syria, Central African Republic, Iraq, and Myanmar; the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia; and the UN mechanism which is completing the work of the Rwanda and Yugoslavia tribunals. It will also be a valuable teaching tool for international law students in universities throughout the world, because it provides examples of clear, applied feminist critique of well-known (and some less well-known) ICC cases.

Second, we hope that the book will be a valued text for feminist scholars in international and national law. Both bodies of scholarship are extensive, but they are not in always in dialogue. In particular, there has been little engagement by international law scholars with the method of feminist judgment writing, while previous projects within this genre have focused on the domestic sphere. By extending this method to an international court, and by showcasing intersectional approaches to feminist judgment writing, we are offering something new to this target audience.

The book is also practical in its orientation, so will appeal to legal practitioners at all levels – lawyers, barristers, prosecutorial and judicial staff, and judges of international criminal courts – because it offers relevant and specific examples of how to apply their legal framework in a more gender-sensitive way. The book shows what feminist judging entails in real cases; it does not just describe the method in abstract terms. As editors, we have endeavoured to ensure that all authors use accessible language and explain theoretical concepts in straightforward terms.

The story of feminist engagement with law is the story of pushing and redrawing boundaries. A key aim is to demonstrate the consequences which stemmed from women’s exclusion from the development of international law: to expose what Charlesworth and Chinkin describe as ‘a narrow and inadequate jurisprudence that has legitimated the unequal position of women worldwide’.Footnote 31 In international criminal law, women’s exclusion has likewise shaped the development of law and its institutions (notwithstanding the work of feminist scholars in seeking to shape the Rome Statute). In this book, we continue to push the boundaries of imagination and judgment, within the bounds of that statute. Importantly, the book demonstrates how gender has been framed in international criminal law – serving as an important reminder that gender is not a synonym for woman, and that a gender lens is crucial for accurately understanding the world. Indeed this neutrality is the fiction (or fairytale) which has for too long held sway in accounts of law, and adjudication. By setting out what might be possible if feminist and gender-sensitive voices echoed from the judiciary, this book imagines a new jurisprudence from the ICC.

3 Do Feminists Believe in Fairy Tales? The Case for Bringing the Feminist Judgment Methodology to the International Criminal CourtFootnote *

Introduction

A few years ago, following a presentation we (the editorial team) were delivering about applying the feminist judgment methodology to the International Criminal Court (ICC), an evidently exasperated audience member interjected and said something to the effect of ‘But why do another feminist judgment project?’ Although initially a little taken aback by the question, it nonetheless raises an important point – why indeed?

This is a question we have taken seriously in curating this project – it is perhaps a bigger question than it might appear at first glance. I do not know the thinking underpinning the questioner’s tone and query at our presentation, although I might speculate. With time and popularity, perhaps some of the novelty or shine of this methodology has worn off. The framing of the question at the time felt as though it was suggesting, at best, a certain kind of naiveté on our part (a misplaced faith in law and its institutions) or, at worst, a complicity with law’s violence, its subjugation of marginalised people. It thus might also be speculated that the question is at once an old and a new question about feminist method: to what extent should feminists engage with law? On what (or whose) terms, and to what ends? Is our faith in law misplaced? Are our attempts to mimic the judicial role just the stuff of wishful fairy tales?

In this chapter, I therefore want to address two, albeit interconnected, questions: why another feminist judgment project? and why the International Criminal Court? In so doing I aim to situate this book within the tradition of existing feminist projects and to reflect on judgment writing as feminist method. Asking ‘Do Feminists Believe in Fairy Tales?’ unites these questions.

The fairy tale (or mythological) motif is, perhaps surprisingly, prominent in accounts of judging, from masculinist explanations of the nature of adjudication through Dworkin’s superhuman HerculesFootnote 1 to the image of the (fairy-tale) woman judge cast so evocatively by Erika Rackley’s analogy of the mermaid whose voice is dulled or diminished to fit in.Footnote 2 There is also the somewhat incongruous image of Lady Justice, as described by Clare McGlynn:Footnote 3 ‘the mythical symbol of justice, the blind-folded figure holding the scales of justice, which appears above our courts, is female, yet women as judges, the dispensers of justice, are few and far between’.Footnote 4 Finally, the notion of fairy tales has also been invoked to rebut traditional, declaratory theories of judging, by suggesting that to believe that judges don’t make law is akin to believing in fairy tales.Footnote 5 As Judge Lord Reid of the United Kingdom noted almost fifty years ago:

There was a time when it was thought almost indecent to suggest that judges make law – they only declare it. Those with a taste for fairy tales seem to have thought that in some Aladdin’s cave there is hidden the Common Law in all its splendour and that on a judge’s appointment there descends on him knowledge of the magic words Open Sesame. Bad decisions are given when the judge has muddled the password and the wrong door opens. But we do not believe in fairy tales anymore.Footnote 6

It might be countered that feminist legal theorists never believed in that particular cave and were always critical of law’s supposed objectivity. The ‘fairy tales’ or fictions embedded in traditional theories came under heavy scrutiny in the second half of the twentieth century, when feminist theorists uncovered the deeply masculinist assumptions embedded in the law and called into question assumptions about law’s (assumed) impartiality. In fact, a major contribution of feminist thought (extending the earlier work of the realists)Footnote 7 has been in exposing the true nature of traditional jurisprudential theories as ‘male theories about law’,Footnote 8 in challenging the stories lawmakers have traditionally told about themselves. One of the most problematic of these stories is the way in which most prominent legal scholars, who have historically been men, have imagined the law (and their role in it) as an objective and apolitical enterprise.Footnote 9 Implicit in this story is the idea of ‘the distinction between on the one hand regarding law as created by human beings, and on the other, as existing separately from deliberate human intervention’.Footnote 10 Feminist accounts of law have presented a rejoinder to ‘the way in which a distinctly male view of the world has been masquerading as detached objectivity’.Footnote 11

Of course, feminists have adopted a range of methods for demonstrating the law’s partiality – the feminist judgment method is but one (relatively) recent innovation. Feminist judgment projects have emerged, at least in part, due to an exasperation with the legal system’s failure to account for gender – they are one of many tools for demonstrating how a distinctly male view of the world has been masquerading as detached objectivity. Importantly, such projects have also taken place against the backdrop of significant shiftsFootnote 12 in conceptualising the relationship between gender and judging. This conceptualisation has in many instances moved beyond earlier understandings of difference,Footnote 13 arguing that rather than expecting women judges to make a difference, it is more plausible to expect that feministsFootnote 14 might make a difference insofar as their approach to legal reasoning is concerned. Although different feminist judgment projects have dealt differently with questions of temporality, place, history, and culture, they are united by the alluringly simple notion that legal judgments could have been decided differently. As a body of work, these projects powerfully make the case that it matters who judges are. More specifically, they demonstrate that there were always possibilities to bring a more gender-sensitive or feminist perspective to bear in the art and craft of judgment writing while staying within the guardrails of the law.

Although the notion of fairy tales serves as the central provocation for this chapter, I want to make clear that fairy tales operate on more than one level. First, I am interested in rebutting the notion that the feminist judgment methodology might simply be dismissed as mere ‘fairy tale’ or wishful thinking. Such an argument is premised on the notion that there is unmet promise and potential in adopting feminist or gender-sensitive approaches at the ICC. Second, while the notion of the judge as described by Lord Reid might have been roundly dismissed, it seems there is still a comfort, or at least resilience, in the fairy tale of ‘the objective judge’. We see this in the extent to which real-life judges seek to eschew feminist identities. Of course, what Reid was saying was not especially controversial or radical for his time. Feminist jurisprudence extended the critique even further than the realists. As Scales observed, ‘the realists did not press their critique deeply enough. They did not bring home its implications in the face of their failure. The system has clung even more desperately to objectivity and neutrality’.Footnote 15 On such a view, feminist judgments are not merely the stuff of fairy tales – in fact, they are part of the business of disrupting the orthodoxy. However, this is not to discount the value of fairy tales insofar as they might serve to imagine different ways of doing things. Indeed, historically the first fairy tales involved women critiquing the patriarchy.Footnote 16

Thus, in posing the question ‘Do Feminists Believe in Fairy Tales?’, this chapter interrogates how the feminist judgment method contributes to this tradition of feminist legal theory in dispelling myths about the neutrality of law and challenging conceptions of the objective masculinised judge. I do so in considering the challenges and tensions which arise through feminist engagement with law and its institutions, especially when those very institutions have shown how resistant they are to feminist interventions. I further consider the tangible impact feminist judgingFootnote 17 might have in the real world, dismissing the notion that such interventions are merely a fairy-tale exercise in reimagining. I make the case for another feminist judgment project, canvassing the ICC’s record to date and the unmet promise of the Rome Statute, and arguing that judges have an important role to play in enhancing gender justice.Footnote 18 Throughout the discussion, I demonstrate that this notion of justice is about far more than questions of the sex composition of the bench.

Why (Another) Feminist Judgment Project? Or Do We Still Believe in (Feminist) Fairy Tales?

Who is the judge of our collective imagination? Thinking deeply about that question, Rackley pondered the extent to which we are still captivated by the particularly alluring fairy tale of neutrality as described by Lord Reid. Rather than taking it as a given, Rackley questioned whether we have indeed abandoned our commitment to the fairy-tale image of the judge as ‘a person stripped of self and re-clothed with the magical attributes of “fairness”, “impartiality”, “disengagement” and “independence”’.Footnote 19 Cataloguing accounts of judging (albeit reflecting scholarship on the common law method in English-speaking countries), she argued:

The judge who inhabits our legal imagination has no personality, no history and no voice. His identity is often hidden beneath a wig and gown, his humanity erased, his voice silenced, his actions directed and constrained. This suits us just fine. We expect the judge to have no identity. We like the idea of a judge who performs superhuman feats in human form, just like a superhero.Footnote 20

By interrogating this fairy tale, Rackley presents a decidedly different kind of story – one which analyses the implications of women’s exclusion and the way in which it continues to shape and constrain understandings of judges. Her argument is that, despite protestations to the contrary, for better or worse we remain trapped in a kind of fairy-tale conceptualisation of judging, even if it has been exposed as a myth. This framing is not only about how those external to the judicial role understand it but also about the judges themselves. As Rackley argued, it is the insulation ‘by his judicial or superhero identity from his own tainted sense of self’ that enables the judge to ‘execute the law’s violence that might otherwise be too painful for him to perform’. Or, to put it another way, ‘It is a belief in the possibility of his own superheroism that enables the judge to judge’.Footnote 21

Such thinking suggests that the myth of Dworkin’s Herculean judge, who has ‘superhuman skill, learning, patience and acumen’,Footnote 22 brings a level of comfort, trust, and reliance to those for whom the sphere of law has been determined to be a place of restricted entry. Perhaps this gives us some insight about why this image prevails, even if it has been exposed as a myth. What Rackley demonstrates so powerfully is the complex tension which has been born out of the feminist preoccupation with difference, including the important shift from expecting women judges to make a difference to the expectation that feminist judges will make a difference.Footnote 23

What does this have to do with the feminist judgment methodology? Certainly, it speaks to ways in which judicial voice might remain constrained by long held notions of exclusion and inclusion. It also brings into sharp relief questions of legitimacy. There is also a further, bigger question: extending the fairy tale motif, what kind of fairy tales underlie the feminist judgment methodology? Feminist judgments are themselves acts of (re)imagination – but are they fairy tales? Though they are fiction, feminist judgments are designed to exist in the realm of the possible. That is the precept at the very heart of the project: they aim to demonstrate what might be possible within the existing bounds of legal formalism.

In justifying another feminist judgment project, I necessarily seek to emphasise the success of the methodology. But what does success mean? Of course, in part this involves a re-examination of the goals of feminist judgment writing projects. These projects have variously been described as law reform projects, social projects, and educative projects. Certainly, such projects are a critique of the status quo – a practical demonstration of the contingency of legal judgment and a comment on law and the feminist method, and the judicial enterprise more broadly. These projects are also political – by demonstrating the contingency of legal reasoning, they are a clarion call to appoint judges with gender expertise. In both these ways, feminist judgment projects serve an educative purpose.

Does success therefore mean real-life judges taking up the feminist mantle? Is it something less ambitious? Is it as simple as the project leading some to question who has been (or still may be) the gatekeeper of knowledge in an area of society that governs and regulates their behaviour? Certainly, one might argue that the adoption of the methodology in various jurisdictions speaks to a certain measure of success.Footnote 24 As the editors of the US Supreme Court project, Crawford, Berger, and Stanchi, have argued:

The signature achievement of the feminist judgments projects has been to combat the myth of a purely logical judicial decision-making process and to demonstrate that judicial decision-making is rarely detached from personal background and experience. By re-imagining the reasoning of judicial opinions through the added insight of feminist theories and methods, while bound by the precedent and facts of the time, the feminist judgment authors are able to write and decide like actual judges, while still accounting for intersecting inequalities resulting from gender, race, class, disability, sexual orientation, gender identity, ethnicity, immigration status and national identity.Footnote 25

Many of the arguments for feminist judgment writing as feminist method have been rehearsed elsewhere but they merit briefly revisiting here. For Rackley, one of the co-editors of the England and Wales Feminist Judgment Project, the academic value of judgment writing lies in the discipline of putting one’s theoretical insights into judgment form, of ‘really testing abstract theories and political commitments against the realities of actual cases’.Footnote 26 Indeed, feminist judgment projects are explicit about their own methodological limitations in terms of what can be done within the bounds of legal formalism and also in the tacit acknowledgement that feminists dressing up in judicial robes are not subject to the same institutional pressures as real judges. As Hunter and colleagues acknowledge, ‘judgments are themselves a constrained and bound genre, and writing a judgment imposes certain expectations and constraints on the writer that inevitably affect – even infect – her theoretical purpose’.Footnote 27 Importantly, the value (which is in many instances framed as legal plausibility) of reimagined judgment also underscores potential limitations. Unlike ordinary academic critique, the genre of judgment writing makes demands of its authors to suspend disbelief: a judicial voice must be adopted, a decision must be reached and academic judgment writers ‘cannot reinvent or radically reshape the law (although they may push at its boundaries)’.Footnote 28

It is therefore probably unsurprising that there has also been considerable reflection from feminist scholars about their engagement with this methodology. Certainly, some contributors to this project noted their own discomfort in engaging with the method – reflecting on the awkwardness of inhabiting the role of judge and the constraints inherent in upholding such a system. The performative aspect of judging (understood as a role inhabited by mere humans) is exposed in powerful ways by feminist judgment writing as a form of feminist critique. Responding to the method, Davies argues that ‘drag is the judicial norm’ rather than the exception, because all ‘judges are performing a role’.Footnote 29 Because it is a performance contingent on plausibility, ‘[f]eminist judges are not at liberty to ignore legal conventions in favour of simply applying a feminist approach but rather must, like all drag artists, be faithful to pre-existing normative ideas’.Footnote 30

But the fairy tale also provokes other questions: Methodologically, what does it mean to engage with law? Are we, as feminists, engaging in wishful (fairy-tale) thinking to engage with law? Should we, as feminist academics, work complicitly within a system that has excluded us. Returning to that provocative question: In pursuing another feminist judgment project (and reflecting on critiques of centring law), is the feminist judgment methodology itself a naïve belief in fairy tales? Is dressing up in judicial robes an example of the tale of the emperor’s new clothes? Is it simply the stuff of fairy tales to imagine that law really can be done differently, and that real-life judges might be influenced by these feminist judgments.

Some insights are provided by real-life feminist judges who have engaged with the methodology in earlier projects – writing forewords, offering guidance about the art and craft of judgment writing, and the judicial role more broadly. For example, Sally Brown,Footnote 31 in the foreword to the Australian project, suggested: ‘If more people who become judges are aware of the gendered nature of law and the overriding importance of equality, and more reflective about the fluidity of the judicial role and the effect of power on the operation of law, there will be judgments which grapple with the concerns of these authors.’Footnote 32 Similarly, Brenda Hale,Footnote 33 in the foreword to the UK project, pondered:

So what difference would it make if there were more feminist judges? We take it as given that all judges have to work within their judicial oaths: to ‘do right to all manner of people after the laws and usages of this realm without fear or favour affection or ill-will.’ They cannot have an ‘agenda’ to shape the law to their own design. But they can certainly bring their own experience and understanding of life to the interpretation or development of the law or its application in individual cases.Footnote 34

Hale went on to describe reading the UK feminist project as a ‘chastening experience for any judge who believes himself or herself to be both true to their judicial oath and a neutral observer of the world’.Footnote 35 Or, put another way, what might judges make of the disruption of the ‘myth of a purely logical judicial decision-making process and to demonstrate that judicial decision-making is rarely detached from personal background and experience’?Footnote 36 On one view, such an argument should not arouse too much controversy. And yet the notion that that feminism might be inimical to the judicial role has been hard to dislodge.

This is because this idea of the judge, as the ‘objective’ superhero continues to have enormous gravitational pull. Real-life judges have, in many instances, eschewed feminist identities. In those rare instances in which international criminal law (ICL) judges and actors have demonstrated a commitment to women’s rights, it has come at a high personal cost, with accusations of ‘bias and lack of impartiality’ and ‘judicial activism’,Footnote 37 arguably making other judges reluctant to push at the gendered boundaries of ICL.Footnote 38 For instance, in the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia’s (ICTY) Furundžija case, Judge Florence Mumba was accused by the defence of apprehended bias due to her former role on the UN Commission on the Status of Women (a claim that was ultimately dismissed by the Appeals Chamber).Footnote 39 This environment of suspicion or even outright hostility to gender sensitivity at the ICTY was captured by Patricia Viseur Sellers, former Legal Advisor for Gender in the ICTY Prosecutor’s Office, who reflected that ‘thoroughly normalizing the investigation and prosecution of sexual violence created a perceptible backlash [at the ICTY]’.Footnote 40 Judge Elizabeth Odio Benito has also faced accusations of bias and politicisation following her gender-sensitive dissent in the Lubanga case.Footnote 41

As such, we think that the bridging of theory and practice is important in opening dialogues between the academy and the profession. This is evident in former ICC Judge Navi Pillay’s Foreword to this book in which she admits to having disavowed the label ‘feminist’ whilst at the same time acknowledging that ‘it is possible to be both a judge and a feminist, once one understands that feminism underscores equality of women and men’. In a similar vein, at the launch of the Australian feminist judgment book, Justice Margaret McMurdoFootnote 42 stressed that being a feminist was entirely in keeping with the judicial role: ‘How could the contextually appropriate advocating of women’s rights on the ground of equality of the sexes result in a reasonable apprehension of bias? There is complete synergy between feminism and the judicial oath.’Footnote 43

In this volume (as with other feminist judgment projects), we have the participation of real-life judges, such as the Honourable Naigaga Winifred Kyobiika from Uganda, in legitimising feminist approaches to judging. Through such projects, we demonstrate that ‘judges can challenge the lingering suspicion that feminist judging comes at the cost of impartiality’.Footnote 44

Since the central premise of the feminist judgment methodology is that the rewritten judgment must be possible within the time and space of the original decision, these reimaginations serve to reveal the masculine (and other) biases of law, as well as the potential to disrupt them. The insistence on operating within the bounds of the law in making decisions which would have been possible at the time (which is especially significant in some of the more historic rewrites) has enhanced the credibility of these projects. Evidently, credibility and being ‘taken seriously’ by legal practitioners is a trade-off for causing greater disruption to the legal processes which are often ‘sites of oppression in themselves’.Footnote 45 Many authors in other volumes, as well as this one, have expressed difficulty in ‘treading the line’ wherein they may engage in the judgment-writing process, highlighting new opportunities for feminist interpretations, in a way that still permits a critique of the process itself.Footnote 46 Of course, many of these tensions are even more apparent and complex against the backdrop of coloniality. As Dawuni notes in Chapter 6 in this volume, although colonisation may have ended, its effects are ongoing ‘as an idea of subjugation continues to be a principal means of control over the political, economic, linguistic, and legal systems of former colonies’.

Some authors in our project have offered contributions which are more ‘disruptive’; less willing to be bound by the genre of judgment writing.Footnote 47 While I agree that one of the most compelling features of feminist judgment writing has been its insistence on plausibility, it is also true that there are innumerable ways to engage with the law and legal system while maintaining scepticism about the law, its language and authority. One compelling example was the approach taken by the Indigenous authors in the Australian project whose contributions were not written as judgments because white man’s law would not be adequate.Footnote 48 Taking these critiques further, the Indigenous Judgment Project was even more radical in its departure from the method – utilising poetry, narrative, and essay to challenge the hegemony of judgment.Footnote 49 These contributions provide an important counter to the notion that adopting feminist/critical judging techniques alone would be sufficient to effect widespread transformation in judicial reasoning and method.

Even through our project’s engagement with the feminist judgment method I nonetheless acknowledge the dangers of engaging with law. As Otto argued in her review of the International Law Project, ‘feminist encounters with law are therefore always fraught with danger for feminist ideas which are vulnerable to co-option into the service of imperial and masculinist agendas’.Footnote 50 She offers the following examples, all of which are salutary given our book’s focus: ‘when the US-led invasion of Afghanistan was defended as a measure to support women’s rights, and the World Bank’s promotion of women’s equality and LGBTIQ inclusion because of their instrumental value in boosting free market economic productivity’.Footnote 51

These examples underscore doubts some feminists have expressed about the capacity for women to transform legal practices and processes by working within the limits of the law.Footnote 52 Indeed, the disinclination of some feminist legal theorists to engage with the law stems from the view that legal processes are so inherently masculine that they are beyond transformation. While much is made of the arguments about decentring law, this was ‘never meant to mean that feminists should ignore law nor indeed that they should never engage with its various guises’.Footnote 53 As Smart herself reflected, responding to the early formulation of feminist judgment projects:

Indeed law (especially at the levels of both formulating legislation and case law) provides a vital site for the contestation of ideas and values. It provides an opportunity to voice feminist values and concerns, and even possible alternatives. … The project, which is about revisiting actual reported cases and rewriting them from the basis of feminist values, seems to be entirely in keeping with the project of encouraging discursive struggle. What, I wonder, could be worse than remaining mute?Footnote 54

Far from ‘remaining mute’ we have co-opted the fairy-tale motif, utilising its power of imagination, possibilities, and retelling to generate a new reality, one which is possible within the bounds that already exist. Using such techniques, it becomes more difficult for critics to dismiss the feminist project as creating something which is created as ‘fake’, ‘forged’, or ‘false’. Rather, it is a demonstration of that which the judge could have decided but did not – either by explicit choice or by unconscious blindness. Feminist judgment projects are not (merely) wishful thinking, ‘rather in showing how cases could have been decided differently within the constraints imposed on judicial decision making … feminist judgments are a manifestation of political truth’.Footnote 55 The judgments provide a tangible and vivid demonstration ‘not only of the importance of having a judiciary that reflects the communities it serves, but also the extent to which a diverse judiciary can bring different perspectives to bear’.Footnote 56

In curating another feminist judgment project, we defend the feminist judgment methodology, acknowledging its limitations, and the limitations of law more broadly. To borrow Matsuda’s powerful imagery, in this volume we have one foot in the courtroom and one foot outside – cognisant of law’s power and possibilities, and its limitations.Footnote 57 Of course, who gets to stand inside the courtroom (imbued with any authority and voice) is itself contested, the product of all kinds of political machinations and hierarchies. This is the matter to which I now wish to turn: explaining why the ICC makes a compelling case study for extending the feminist judgment method to a new site.

Why Extend Feminist Judgment Methodology to the International Criminal Court?

What features of the ICC make it the suitable subject of another feminist judgment project? Here there are two matters which bear emphasis. The ICC’s record means that it is rightly a site of feminist concern, one that has not lived up to its promise of gender justice – a promise that is significant (notwithstanding the many and valid critiques of the Rome Statute).Footnote 58 Although the ICC does not make any reference to feminist judging, the importance of gender sensitivity is ‘baked into’ the ICC’s design, so to speak.Footnote 59 The feminist judgment methodology thus provides an important outlet to illustrate this promise, which can be more fully realised by thinking about the transformative role of judges.

The ICC’s Poor Record in Attaining Gender Justice

Sexual and gender-based crimes (SGB) are endemic in periods of conflict,Footnote 60 and yet the ICC has secured just two convictions for such crimes, both towards the end of the second decade of its operation: Ongwen 2021Footnote 61 and Ntaganda 2019.Footnote 62 This low level of accountability creates a series of injustices: it leaves intact perpetrator impunity; it leaves victims without recognition or reparation; and it undermines the legitimacy of the ICC, given the commitment of its architects to advancing gender justice across all systems, jurisdictions, and societies.Footnote 63 But the ICC’s weak contribution to gender justice runs much deeper than just failed convictions for SGB crimes; the ICC’s failure to integrate a gender perspective has touched every stage of the trial. For example, the Court has not considered gendered barriers to justice when assessing whether its cases should be turned over to national courts,Footnote 64 and has excluded women’s perspectives in cases relating to the destruction of cultural heritage.Footnote 65 Grey’s work on prosecuting SGB crimes has shown how the proportion of SGB charges decreases significantly at each stage of trial in comparison to other crimes, illustrating an overarching issue with both prosecutorial and judging approaches.Footnote 66 To improve accountability for SGB crimes in the ICC, and to ensure that the Court develops a more gender-sensitive practice which places survivors at the centre, there is an urgent need to understand the reasons for this failure. This includes filling a research gap to interrogate the role of the judiciary in perpetuating the problem.

One such strategy for understanding the part the judiciary has played in the Court’s poor gender justice record is adopting the feminist judgment methodology. The focus that the methodology brings to judging is currently lacking from the sophisticated critique of ICL which feminist scholars have been developing since the 1990s.Footnote 67 The focus of this work has primarily revolved around issues of how legal concepts and practices have historically been gendered in ways which lead to women’s discrimination in the courtroom,Footnote 68 and how women survivors of SGB violence in conflict have been ignored, or their experiences rendered less grievous than other crimes.Footnote 69 However, missing from feminist ICL scholarship is the concept of ‘feminist judging’, a critical method which, as discussed above, has been used in domestic/national settings, and an understanding of how such an approach can be utilised in efforts to overcome gender biases embedded in ICL. To the extent that international legal studies have addressed gender and judging at all, the focus has (mostly) either been on increasing the number of women judges on relevant courts,Footnote 70 or on feminist judging in non-criminal international law venues.Footnote 71

Furthermore, as noted in Chapter 2, existing gender-oriented analyses of the ICC have tended to focus on how poor investigation and prosecution strategies have contributed to the ICC’s initial failure to secure convictions for SGB crimes.Footnote 72 The ICC Prosecutor’s Office recognises this fact and has consequently appointed gender advisors and published a comprehensive gender policy aimed at improving its track record across the board.Footnote 73 This focus has meant that there is comparatively little recognition or research (or at least the recognition has been slower) into the role that judges have played in adjudicating SGB crimes, and no collective actionFootnote 74 by the ICC’s judiciary to draw lessons from the extensive research on gender-sensitive judging in domestic courts.Footnote 75 As such, a feminist rewriting of ICC decisions examines the Court’s poor conviction record from a new angle.

Gender Parity and Gender Expertise on the Bench

It is relevant to consider the ICC’s own record in terms of gender parity and gender expertise on the bench and whether this makes the Court a suitable focus for another feminist judgment project. The importance of not conflating sex with gender expertise was at least to some extent addressed by the Rome Statute through its provisions for the election of judges. Notably, Article 36(8)(a) provides that states parties shall in the selection of judges ‘take into account the need, within the membership of the Court, for: (i) The representation of the principal legal systems of the world; (ii) Equitable geographical representation; and (iii) A fair representation of female and male judges’. Importantly, it further specifies in Article 36(8)(b) that ‘States Parties shall also take into account the need to include judges with legal expertise on specific issues, including, but not limited to, violence against women or children’.Footnote 76 Although these provisions do not conflate sex and expertise, they fall short of requiring equal gender representation and they do not put any particular weight on the matters to be taken account (for example, gender expertise).

The Rome Statute’s provisions for judicial election provide some context to the Court’s gender statistics, which have shown mixed success in embedding gender representation and expertise. From 2010 to 2014, women constituted the majority of justices on the ICC bench, reaching a peak of 61 per cent in 2011. However, underscoring the precarious nature of such gains, in 2015 female representation on the bench slipped to an all-time low of 33 per cent.Footnote 77 After the 2020 ASP Session, women held nine of eighteen judicial appointments.Footnote 78 At the 2023 ASP, two more women were elected to the bench, resulting in women again holding 61 per cent of all judicial positions.

As of March 2023, there were fourteen nominations to the positions, with six female to eight male nominations.Footnote 79 Notably, all three candidates from the Asia-Pacific states were male.Footnote 80 Accordingly, even specific provisions which account for a ‘fair representation’ have not necessarily been a safeguard for securing something akin (or close) to parity.

Perhaps more significantly for our purposes is the number of judges with specific gender expertise. In 2023, five out of the eighteen sitting justices self-identify as possessing gender expertise:Footnote 81

  1. (1) Judge Luz del Carmen Ibáñez Carranza, gender and children legal expertise.

  2. (2) Judge Chang-ho Chung, gender legal expertise (ECCC).

  3. (3) Judge Bertram Schmitt, gender legal expertise.

  4. (4) Judge Althea Violet Alexis-Windsor, legal expertise in sexual violence.

  5. (5) Judge Miatta Maria Samba, legal expertise in sexual violence.

Our point here is not to over-emphasise the significance of these numbers in any empirical sense. Understood in a wider historical context (which has denied women access to judicial roles) – parity or near parity on the bench must be set against that reality. But, as Kenney explains, numbers matter because they affect power in institutions, and we ‘need to know if the institution is uniform, skewed, tilted, or balanced’Footnote 82 to understand how institutions are gendered.Footnote 83 Gender expertise is not the sole purview of women, and sex does not connote knowledge or authority. Two of the above five judges self-identifying as having expertise are male.Footnote 84 Moreover, I am not suggesting that this expertise is synonymous with a feminist approach to judging – although of course it stands to reason that this expertise might manifest itself this way (or at least increase the likelihood that a judge possessing such expertise might be more likely to show feminist or gender-sensitive approaches to judging). Rather, my point is about the relative importance that might be placed on ensuring that the ICC judiciary reflects the principles of fair representation, and the election of judges with gender expertise.Footnote 85 That is, despite these provisions, the Court has a mixed record, both in terms of gender parity and in the appointment of judges with specific gender expertise.

This record makes the ICC fertile ground for another feminist judgment project. The fact that the Court’s provisions on gender representation and expertise have not been fully realised opens the door for asking: What if they had been? How might judgment differ if written by someone openly espousing feminist principles? Importantly, the fact that such expertise is explicitly recognised (to an extent) by the Statute itself renders its application more pertinent.

Highlighting the primary importance of gender expertise on the bench is even more important in light of the Court’s continued preoccupation with numerical rather than substantive representation. Certainly, it feels as if this concern with parity remains significant – to the point that it might obscure other concerns – in accounts about judges and the role that they might play on the Court. For example, on International Women’s Day (IWD) in 2023, the President of the Court, Judge Piotr Hofmański, made a point of emphasising the numerical picture:

The ICC is proud to be at the forefront of the movement toward gender equality in the field of international justice. With nine female and nine male judges currently on our bench, we project to the world the critical importance of the equal participation of men and women in the field of law. Yet, much more remains to be done to achieve effective equality of opportunities in our workforce. As an International Gender Champion, I am strongly committed to treating this as a continuous priority that requires tangible efforts on a daily basis.Footnote 86

In contrast, in his remarks on IWD, ICC Prosecutor Karim A. A. Khan KC also emphasised the ICC’s working environment, but appeared to evidence a wider and more nuanced understanding of gender justice than focusing solely on equal representation. He said:

On this International Women’s Day, I reaffirm my commitment to the ICC’s Gender Strategy and my conviction that gender equality, gender diversity, and empowerment of women within my Office are key prerequisites for high performance … Our Office also protects women’s rights in the crimes we investigate and prosecute. That includes the crime of gender persecution – the ultimate crime of discrimination towards women, including lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer, and intersex women.

Now, of course these are isolated comments made in recognition of International Women’s Day – they should not be taken as representing a complete picture regarding the institutional understanding of gender justice. But they nonetheless serve as another reminder that more work is needed in emphasising the role judges might play in improving gender justice.

Fulfilling the Promise of the Rome Statute

Finally, it is not merely the ICC’s poor gender justice record or varying levels of gender expertise that make it a suitable forum for extending the feminist judgment methodology. Rather, the fact that the Rome Statute itself already contains substantial (and under-utilised) gender-sensitive provisions transforms the rewriting from an academic exercise into a real-world possibility. The editors of this volume have elsewhere canvassed the possibilities for ICC judges to engage in gender-sensitive or feminist judging, stressing the significant promise in the Rome Statute when it comes to delivering gender justice. As we argued, there are three main spheres of judicial activity which could be utilised by the bench to bring into effect the potential of the Statute: interpreting the law, making findings of fact, and making procedural decisions.Footnote 87

During the Court’s creation, the international feminist legal community successfully advocated for strong gender justice provisions in the Rome Statute.Footnote 88 These provisions were supported by numerous states, as well as the Women’s Caucus for Gender Justice, the key feminist organisation engaged in the negotiations.Footnote 89 Indeed, some of the proposed gender justice provisions had to be watered down in order to appease conservative states, particularly the provisions defining terms such as ‘gender’ and ‘forced pregnancy’.Footnote 90 However, the Women’s Caucus and like-minded states were successful in locking in many gender justice rules. For example, the Rome Statute recognises a wider range of sexual and gender-based crimes than any previous instrument of international law;Footnote 91 it refers to special measures to protect the dignity and well-being of victims of SGB violence;Footnote 92 and it requires that all sources of law applicable within the ICC are interpreted and applied without adverse distinction (discrimination) on gender grounds.Footnote 93 Of course, the Rome Statute’s provisions aimed at securing gender expertise in the Chambers (that is, the judiciary),Footnote 94 Office of the Prosecutor,Footnote 95 and RegistryFootnote 96 are all also important in embedding this expertise in the institution.

As such, embedded within the Rome Statute is an unrealised promise for gender justice. The Rome Statute provides a firm foothold for such an approach – and acknowledging, of course, that the method has been successfully deployed in reimagining historic and more contemporary decisions where arguably no such firm foothold exists. The feminist judgment methodology provides an important forum to explore the potential of this promise by changing who decides the law, testing the limits between legal plausibility and feminist principles.

It therefore presents something of a blueprint for what might be possible within existing institutions. Is it akin to belief in a fairy tale to imagine the appointment of real-life feminist judges? Here I think that at least part of the work of the feminist judgment methodology is to destigmatise the notion that bringing such a perspective to bear is antithetical to the judicial role. Indeed, even if ICC member states want to elect feminist judges, and even if serving judges want to become more gender sensitive, there is little guidance on the features of feminist judging in relation to this particular court, or in relation to ICL more generally. This is due to a lack of knowledge transfer from the extensive literature on and practice of feminist judging in domestic courts to the international arena.

This book serves to bridge that gap. It demonstrates what might be possible on the international stage. It invites the legal community, and those beyond, to engage with the work already underway in many domestic spheres; to reimagine who the imagined international criminal law judge might be, and how they might approach their task. It reopens the possibilities that were in full force during the 1998 Rome Conference and earlier preparatory meetings. So, why another feminist judgment project? Because the promise and potential of the ICC for gender justice is not a fairy tale – and that is something we as feminists should believe in.

4 ‘The Richness of the Jurisprudence That Is Absent’ Imagining a Different Legal Past

Introduction

For over three decades, Professor Patricia Sellers has been a leading feminist voice in international criminal law. In 1994, she was hand-picked by the inaugural Prosecutor of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) Richard Goldstone as his Special Advisor on Gender. She has since been Acting Head of the Legal Advisory Section and a prosecutor at the ICTY, and held three posts as Special Advisor to the ICC Prosecutor: first on prosecution strategies, then gender, and, since 2021, on slavery crimes. In 2024, she developed the ICC Prosecutor’s inaugural Policy on Slavery Crimes. Sellers is on the law faculty and is a visiting fellow at Oxford University’s Kellogg College, and has published widely on gender and enslavement in international criminal law. In 2000, she served as Chief Prosecutor of the Women’s International War Crimes Tribunal on the Trial of Japan’s Military Sexual Slavery, a people’s tribunal that symbolically prosecuted and determined individual liability and state accountability for crimes committed against several hundred thousand ‘comfort women’ in Japanese military brothels before and during World War II.Footnote 1

In this chapter, which is based on interviews with Rosemary Grey in 2022 and 2023, Sellers reflects on these experiences. The chapter extends this ICC feminist judgment collection in a unique way. In line with previous feminist judgment projects, most of this book’s contributions take the form of a reimagined decision: the authors take an existing ICC judgment (or part of one) and rewrite it as if they had been on the Bench, equipped with the same submissions, evidence, and law as the real judges were, but rendering a judgment that seeks to be more gender-competent than the original.Footnote 2 This process can be described as a feminist rewriting of history: the author goes back to their chosen moment in the ICC’s past and produces an alternative decision, thereby revealing a road not taken in the Court’s case law.

But here, Sellers takes us back even further in time, to cases adjudicated before the creation of the ICC. By imagining judgments that could have been made by previous international tribunals, she conjures up an alternative legal present and paves the way for an alternative legal future. Specifically, Sellers shows how contemporary jurisprudence on the crimes of ‘enslavement’ and ‘slave-trading’ might have been more gender-attuned had a deeper understanding of gender and intersectionality been embedded in international criminal tribunals in the past. Her thought-experiment reaches back to the beginning of contemporary international criminal law, with the trials of German and Japanese defendants in the International Military Tribunal (IMT or Nuremberg Tribunal) and International Military Tribunal for the Far East (IMTFE or Tokyo Tribunal) after World War II. It then moves on to the ICTY and International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), and finally to current proceedings in the ICC.

By altering legal history in this way, the chapter resonates with the more experimental contributions to previous feminist judgment projects, such as Nicole Watson’s entries in the Australian and Indigenous collections, which take the form of judgments that could hypothetically be rendered if Australia had made a treaty with its Indigenous people.Footnote 3 Such contributions veer off the guardrails of the ‘feminist judgment method’ proposed by Rosemary Hunter,Footnote 4 and in doing so reinterpret the method in thought-provoking ways.

In particular, Sellers’ approach prompts us to consider the effect of legal precedent – of judicial analysis from past generations – on the development of international criminal law today. This issue of precedent is important in the ICC context. Legally speaking, the ICC is not bound by the principle of stare decisis (standing by past decisions) in the way that courts are in the common-law world. But in the practice of the ICC, legal precedents continue to loom large. In fact, ICC judgments regularly cite and follow decisions of the ICTY and ICTR, and sometimes also look to the Special Court of Sierra Leone (SCSL), Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC), the Nuremberg and Tokyo Tribunals, and other courts that have adjudicated war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. In addition, the career trajectories and educational pathways that lead lawyers and judges to the ICC provide an informal route by which ideas travel from past tribunals to this Court.

Therefore, to fully appreciate the limitations and possibilities of feminist judgment writing in the ICC, we need to contemplate the jurisprudence, absent jurisprudence, and forgotten jurisprudence of previous international criminal tribunals, as Sellers does here.

The Conversation Begins

Sellers: I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of absent jurisprudence. About the jurisprudence that we don’t have, the jurisprudence that fails to inform us now. I think we’re living with the consequences of trying to imagine and legally characterise something that could have been given to us via precedent, but was not. In international criminal law, we have certain ‘holy books’ of jurisprudence, but as feminist legal thinkers know, they are far from complete. I don’t just mean the reductive call that ‘there’s no mention of the word rape in the Nuremberg judgment’. There’s much more to it than that.

Grey: That is an intriguing way to begin, thank you. Where would you like to start?

On ‘Comfort Women’ and the Tokyo Tribunal

Sellers: I want to bring up the Tokyo judgment because it’s so overlooked by most feminists. It speaks to something within us that we don’t more closely examine the Tokyo jurisprudence for what is present in it. There’s a lot of sexual violence present. But then, there is also a huge absence with the omission of the ‘comfort women’ crimes. Within the Tokyo Tribunal, there were no indictments that concerned the ‘comfort women’. But we have an estimated 100,000 to 200,000 women wherein the crimes committed against them were not part of the evidentiary basis and certainly not part of the jurisprudence. Until today, we live in an absence of what that jurisprudence could have been like.

For example, that jurisprudence might have emphasised how women from a vast sphere of countries within Asia-Pacific were abducted, falsely recruited, and enslaved in a sexualised nature. And during their enslavement, continually transferred, reposted, etcetera, meaning continual slave-trading and enslavement. And because we don’t have that as part of the IMTFE jurisprudence, we have an absence of understanding of that gendered aspect of enslavement and slave-trading over a long period of time in relationship to armed conflict. That lack of jurisprudence regarding ‘comfort women’ shows us very early on what could have been ‘same-side sexual violence’, an issue that we don’t really understand until the ICC’s Ntaganda case.Footnote 5

Grey: When we discussed Ntaganda back in 2018, you described that appeal judgment as a ‘high point’ in the ICC’s evolving jurisprudence, and observed that ‘it hasn’t really hit the international criminal law consciousness yet’.Footnote 6

[Editorial note: In 2017 in the Ntaganda case, the ICC Appeals Chamber confirmed that the rape and sexual enslavement of female child soldiers by their commanders could constitute war crimes under Article 8(2)(e)(vi) of the Rome Statute, even though the putative victims and perpetrators were part of the same military force. This issue was contentious because the defence had argued that a war crime necessarily involves violations against persons or property affiliated with the ‘other side’, as opposed to crimes committed against members of one’s own military force.Footnote 7]

Would it have taken until 2017 to reach this ‘high point’ if the Tokyo Tribunal had addressed the question of ‘same-side sexual violence’ back in the 1940s?

Sellers: I believe that if we’d had jurisprudence regarding the ‘comfort women’, particularly those from Korea, which was a Japanese colony at the time, we would already have dispelled the myth that you can’t have war crimes over your ‘own’ people over seventy years earlier.

Grey: And now the Ntaganda ruling has been picked up in Colombia too, so the idea that sexual crimes within a military force can be a war crime is starting to travel across time and space.Footnote 8 But as you said, this could have happened decades ago, had the Tokyo Tribunal looked at this issue.

Sellers: In addition, the Tokyo Tribunal could have provided a valuable intersectional analysis had it examined the slave-trading and enslavement of ‘comfort women’. We can see the very racialised nature of enslavement within this context. Some of the women were indigenous, from Okinawa, Taiwan, Timor, and Burma. Those women’s treatment were not only among the worst, but those were the women that enlisted men could have access to. Whereas some of the women who were the daughters of colonisers in Indonesia, who were white European women, were abused by the officer corps of the Japanese army. So, this racialisation of the different comfort women was part of the ideology of the perpetrators. We shouldn’t be surprised; in the Asia-Pacific arena at that time, there was a highly racialised war. Japan was blatantly claiming racial superiority over the other countries in Asia and South-East Asia and Asia-Pacific.

There were issues of class too. The women and girls recruited for work purposes were from working families that not only needed the money, but that could ‘allow’ their daughters to go to a foreign place with the hopes of bringing back money. But in the IMTFE, we really lacked this kind of intersectional gender analysis of the crimes committed against the ‘comfort women’. I think that we have to be very cognisant of the richness of the jurisprudence that is absent by not having had that as part of the foundational Tokyo judgment jurisprudence.

Grey: The judgment from the Tokyo Women’s Tribunal in 2000 showed us what that intersectional analysis of crimes against the ‘comfort women’ might have looked like.

[Editorial note: After an extensive intersectional analysis, the Tokyo Women’s Tribunal concluded: ‘The Japanese military targeted women and girls primarily of subjugated populations viewed as inferior by Japanese Imperial culture, for the provision of forced sexual services because they were female and thus seen as disposable … The creation of the “comfort women” system reflects the intersection of discrimination based on both gender and race/ethnicity.’Footnote 9]

And so do the chapters by Pryia Gopalan, Angela Mudukuti and Jarpa Dawuni on intersectionality in this book.Footnote 10 It’s incredible to imagine how advanced intersectional gender analysis might be in international criminal law today if that legal interpretive approach had begun with the Tokyo Tribunal in the 1940s.
On the Ravensbrück Camp and Nuremberg Trials

Sellers: I also want to look at the other absent jurisprudence from the European theatre. We know that the Ravensbrück camp in Germany detained females (I assume they were female), let’s say women, mostly above eighteen, but there might have been some younger. Why were they detained in this camp that wasn’t necessarily a death camp for the Jewish population, but was certainly a detention camp that the National Socialist [Nazi] regime set up for females? Well, in Nazi ideology these women were outcasts, enemies of society. They were ‘prostitutes’, today we would say commercial sex workers, or considered to be lesbian, and therefore were not adding to the Nazi birth project of increasing the procreation of the Aryan race. They were women who might have been criminals under national penal law. All of these ‘unsociable’ female elements were gathered together at the detention camp. They were basically detained for not performing the expected gender roles of women in society, which is not examined in jurisprudence after the war.

That jurisprudence has not been examined to the extent that it could have been, given that some trials did occur regarding the Ravensbrück camp.Footnote 11 These trials mainly concerned the female guards employed at the camp. We have to ask ourselves, who were these female perpetrators? Some had already been female guards at domestic women’s prisons, and some might have been recruited specifically for Ravensbrück. Therefore, you see the use of women to be guards over women who are considered to be outcasts. Among some of these female guards, it appears from the readings I’ve done, but not in the court transcripts, that some were lesbian women. It’s an interesting choice by the National Socialist regime to deploy lesbians on the one hand as a productive part of society, to guard other women who were considered ‘a-sociable’, some of them for that same reason.

We really haven’t explored those Ravensbrück trials to the commensurate extent that we’ve explored other subsequent cases from that period: the medical trial, the judges’ trial,Footnote 12 and others tried in Nuremberg under Control Council Law 10. Those Control Council cases have entered the common knowledge, at least of those who want to be a little more nerdy about the Nuremberg proceedings. But we haven’t focused on trials against women defendants or about female camps. We have lost a richness in potential jurisprudence, even with its own prejudices of the day, that might have allowed us to better understand the gender ideology that related to imprisonment, to crimes against humanity against a female German population that was attacked, thus persecuted, by German society.

If we looked more closely at the Ravensbrück cases, it also would inform how we understand the detention of women during periods of armed conflict later on. For example, when we come to Yugoslavia, we find the Omarska camp and other gender-separated camps, where females and males are detained separately. We would see a slight continuum of past conflicts. It is horrific and terrible, but we would have places in our legal historical memory in which to slot the detention of women and help us understand this type of crime.

On Gendered Deportation and Enslavement

Sellers: The last thing I will say, coming up from the Nuremberg and the Tokyo era, is that the relationship between deportation and slave labour was never analysed to the extent it might have been. Those tribunals certainly look at enslavement under crimes against humanity, more so with Nuremberg. In fact, there is part of the Nuremberg judgment that talks about 500,000 women being deported into Germany to work as domestic labourers.Footnote 13 This idea of deporting into enslavement is, I think, another way of saying they were slave-traded. We don’t have that terminology within the jurisprudence, but certainly it could have been a more apt description of this very gendered example of slave-trading and enslavement.

And so, that consideration of gendered deportation, slave-trading, and enslavement is also absent from our jurisprudential background. There was no examination of the experience of this huge number of women being placed in German homes. As we know from historical experiences, they likely faced the kind of harsh treatment and sexual violence that maids and domestic workers confront when they’re isolated in private houses, particularly by persons who are considered their enemy at this point in time. So, this is individualised domestic labour in relationship to armed conflict. It’s not quite (imprisonment) detention, but it’s a different type of framework. That type of framework might help us to understand more about the experience of enslaved Yazidi females, who have been placed in individualised homes today as ‘domestic workers’, and whose enslavement is also sexualised.

On Enslavement and the ICTY

Grey: I wrote down something you said before, ‘the richness of the jurisprudence that is absent’. Building on that idea, what do you see as absent from the jurisprudence of the ICTY, the tribunal where you began to actively shape the international jurisprudence on sexual and gender-based crimes? Speaking about jurisprudence that we don’t have, whose absence we’re haunted by, we’ve previously talked about the ICTY’s Kunarac case, in which you were on the prosecution trial team. Could you take us through your thoughts on that case?

[Editorial note: In 2001 in the Kunarac case, the ICTY rendered its first conviction of rape as a crime against humanity. The case also broke new legal ground by recognising that the detention by male Serb forces of Bosnian Muslim women and girls in homes in the Foča area of Bosnia and Herzegovina, where they were subjected to forced domestic and sexual servitude, amounted to the crime against humanity of enslavement. These historic convictions for rape and enslavement were upheld on appeal in 2002.Footnote 14]

Sellers: Yes, I wanted to give this background, so I could finally elaborate upon the ICTY jurisprudence and the Kunarac case. Months ago, we were speaking about what’s missing from the slavery jurisprudence. In doing that, I realised that the absences didn’t start with Kunarac, and they probably won’t end with Kunarac. I needed to recall the beginning, to the 1940s, to the foundations of international criminal law.

Within the ICTY jurisprudence, by the time the Kunarac case is delivered, we have already received the Furundžija and the Čelebići cases on sexual violence. There was an understanding from these cases that rape can be categorised as torture under the grave breaches of the Geneva Conventions, and also the customary-based war crime of outrages upon personal dignity. So, we’re positioning ourselves within this ‘rape as torture’ compendium. Before that, there seemed to be a binary understanding of crimes against male and female. Males came under torture; women came under rape. False legal hierarchies were set up. We thought that if crimes against women could come under torture, that would show that we’re as important as men. So, there was this interest in linking rape and torture together.

At that time that we’re investigating and drafting the indictment for Kunarac, we understand that Čelebići is coming out. There’s a bit more comfort with understanding that rape, when done for certain purposes, can be torture. However, in Kunarac, we have evidence showing something in addition is happening to these females who were taken from the detention facility and into the soldier’s homes, to be abused for weeks or months, which we eventually charged as their enslavement. I was legal advising on the case. It took some time to understand that there was something in addition to, if not more than, torture and rape. That in Kunarac, enslavement is happening, particularly when facts are being revealed of trading girls, and sales, and acts of that nature. If we had had that World War II jurisprudence, that would have popped out at us without a blink. We would have gone straight to charging enslavement, as opposed to having to go through the process of convincing colleagues, and making sure we could convince the judges.

At the time, this option [of charging forced sexual and domestic labour as enslavement] was completely off the radar of most of the feminists. We may make analogies by asking ourselves today: what is off the radar, what can’t we see because there hasn’t been a precedent?

On Slave-Trading

Sellers: So, going forward with Kunarac, we started to better understand the choosing, gathering, and transferring of females for sexual violence, until they were reduced to a situation of enslavement. But we had missed legally categorising the transfers, the instances of trading and selling women, as slave-trading, which is a different crime to enslavement. Slave-trading is the precursory conduct that can lead to enslavement: the earlier steps of selecting, relocating, and sometimes transacting of people, so that they can be reduced to a situation of enslavement.

That understanding could have been reached via precedent if we’d better understood at Nuremberg what the deportation of 500,000 women into slave labour meant, or at Tokyo, what the transfer on Japanese wartime frigates or battleships meant for the ‘comfort women’. We would have followed that legal logic when interpreting Article 3 of the Yugoslav Statute, which was not an exhaustive list of war crimes. Rather, it allowed the pursuit of a war crime as long as it was a serious violation of the laws and customs of war, and one could have individual criminal responsibility for it. It could be a war crime in treaty, or in customary international law. Therefore, both slavery and the slave trade could have been, or should have been, prosecuted under Article 3 of the ICTY Statute. This would have been following Rule 94 of the ICRC study of customary law.Footnote 15

So those precedents also are missing from the ICTY. We don’t have the customary law basis of slavery and [the] slave trade as war crimes inflicted upon the Foča women in the Kunarac case. The evidence was there, but neither the prosecution made submissions nor judges made observations of that nature in obiter dicta, which could have also clarified the issue. What they did say is that one does not need the sale of a person in order to prove enslavement. Now, we might go further and clarify that the sale of a person could indicate the war crime of slave-trading, but not necessarily enslavement. There were so many ways that this could have been clarified by submissions, or by adjudication. Instead, we have this absence in Kunarac. You also see that absence in the Stanković indictment.

[Editorial note: Like the Kunarac case, the Stanković case concerned the abuse of Bosnian Muslim women and girls by male Serb forces in the Foča area. Some of these girls were just twelve or fourteen years old. The prosecution alleged that defendant Radovan Stanković was in charge of an abandoned house owned by a man named Karaman. According to the indictment, Stanković ‘not only stocked Karaman’s House with Muslim girls and women so that Serb soldiers and other Serb men could sexually assault them, but also kept tight control on their movements’.Footnote 16 He was charged with the crimes against humanity of rape and enslavement, and the war crimes of rape and outrages on personal dignity, but there were no charges for the war crimes of enslavement or slave-trading. The case was referred from the ICTY to the Bosnia and Herzegovina State Court, where he was convicted of the crimes against humanity of enslavement, imprisonment, torture, and rape.Footnote 17]

I maintain that this missing jurisprudence has influenced, or, I like the word you used earlier, has ‘haunted’ our approach to the subsequent ICC cases of Katanga, Ongwen, and Ntaganda. It’s clear in those cases that the abduction of boys and girls into militia groups was really the precursory conduct, the slave-trading conduct, in order to reduce them to enslavement.

On the Rome Statute’s Silences around Enslavement and Slave-Trading

Grey: Listening to you just now, I had another thought about the ongoing impact of absences in past jurisprudence. As you’ve written about before, enslavement and the slave trade are not listed as war crimes under the Rome Statute. It doesn’t appear that the drafters deliberately considered and excluded these crimes, it just seems to have slipped people’s attention at Rome. I wonder, if there had been strong jurisprudence from Nuremberg, Tokyo, and the ICTY about enslavement and slave-trading as war crimes, maybe this wouldn’t have been forgotten at Rome, and we’d now see those war crimes in Article 8 of the ICC Statute.

Sellers: Yes, I think they would have been in the Rome Statute because the jurisprudence from Tokyo, and particularly from Nuremberg, is just so pivotal. What also could have occurred to encourage the placement of these war crimes in the Rome Statute is if they were enumerated in the ICTR Statute. In 1977, in Article 4 of Additional Protocol II, there is a prohibition of slavery and the slave trade in all its forms.Footnote 18 Those prohibitions were not picked up in the ICTR Statute, although other parts of Protocol II were included. Maybe, there was a presumption that the Rwanda conflict was about genocide, rape, and so forth, but it wasn’t about slavery and slave-trading, so there was no need for their inclusion. In any case, I think that absence in the ICTR Statute contributed to these war crimes not even being concertedly considered during the drafting of the Rome Statute.

Grey: In your previous answer, you mentioned the ICC’s Katanga, Ntaganda, and Ongwen cases as examples where the transfer of people into enslavement could have been classified as slave-trading, if that were a war crime in the Rome Statute. Could you elaborate on your reading of those cases?

Sellers: Right, I’m using Katanga and Chui as an illustration.Footnote 19 The Trial Chamber seems to have correctly adjudicated that sexual violence occurred; it was committed by the militia groups that Katanga and Chui were involved in, and female civilians were taken from one place to another. Here is where we get our preliminary jurisprudence on the ‘sexual slavery’ provision of the Rome Statute. But we can look at the facts prior to the sexual slavery, which is not attributed to the accused. Once again there is evidence of choosing, of transporting, of distributing women and girls. If we’d had the jurisprudence on slave-trading that I talked about before, we could have understood this evidence from Katanga as analogous to what happened to the ‘comfort women’, and what happened to the women in Foča. The judges might have characterised, in obiter dicta, those acts as slave-trading.

It’s also a notable gap in Ongwen.Footnote 20 There, the Trial Chamber does a very thorough job of understanding the idea of abducting civilians to go into an enslaved workforce, and that within those civilians, the boys are later reduced to child soldiers, another form of enslavement. The girls are reduced to what is called ‘ting tings’ [babysitters/domestic servants] if they are pre-menstrual, or to ‘bush wives’ if they are post-puberty and targeted to be sexually violated immediately. Now, looking back, we understand that the Trial Chamber is deliberating about their abduction and further distribution. These boys and girls were slave-traded until they were enslaved as child soldiers or as tings tings or as bush wives. When the fighter in charge of those enslaved children died, sometimes the children were slave-traded again. It perfectly fits into the 1926 and 1956 definition of slave-trading,Footnote 21 which can occur as a precursor to enslavement, but also subsequently, whenever enslaved persons are taken to new situations of enslavement. If we had the jurisprudential precedents that I spoke about earlier, and if that had led to the inclusion of slave-trading as a war crime and as a crime against humanity in the Rome Statute, we could have understood this evidence in Ongwen as the slave-trading of children. Ntaganda gives us similar situations where children are abducted, kidnapped, transferred, and distributed.

Grey: And in your view, what are the stakes of the fact that slave-trading is not listed as a crime in the Rome Statute, that there isn’t a legal lexicon to characterise that precursory conduct as ‘slave-trading’. Could you explain, why does that matter?

Sellers: That is a good question. One could say ‘it really doesn’t matter because there was enough other evidence that led to convictions’, or ‘it really doesn’t matter because there are other important precedents set by those ICC cases’, or ‘why don’t we just call that “other inhumane acts?”’ But I would say those are insufficient answers for three reasons.

First, if we could return to the women placed in Nazi households as domestic workers, or to the ‘comfort women’ or to the women in Foča, and decidedly describe what happened to them, I think it was just as terrifyingly criminal to be chosen and relocated, prior to any of the enslavement occurring. Those very acts – placing me on your battleship and transferring me from Okinawa to the Philippines – those are criminal acts and that should have been characterised as slave-trading. I was in essence a victim/survivor of an international crime in that very moment; but it is a crime that international courts have chosen to ignore. So, from the victim/survivor point of view, to say that we’ll examine enslavement but not slave-trading really is not to undertake responsibility as a judicial actor in relationship to the survivor. So, the first reason is that we’re denying the survivor recognition of the panoply of crimes that were committed against them.

Second, international criminal law has evolved to become a combination of [Continental] civil law and Anglo-Saxon law. Within that civil law aspect, the judges are to be presented with as full a rendition of the criminal conduct as possible. For example, in the Yugoslav context, we didn’t omit the detention crimes of someone. If they’re killed in detention, we did not only focus on the murder. We’d look at the whole sequence: they were forcefully transferred, they were detained, and then the killing occurred. No one would say ‘Let’s just get the killings’. Likewise, one has to question why, when it comes to enslavement, particularly of women and children, do we jump over slave-trading? What is the impact of jumping over that crime, especially from a gender point of view?

The third rationale is that it is completely contrary to the idea of using the entire panoply of available legal tools, if we are really serious about atrocity crimes. Right now, there is a lot of discussion about use of the crime of aggression from customary international law, since it can’t come before the ICC. It shows the importance of understanding the legal tools that are available, even the customary legal tools. So, skipping over or ignoring other legal tools, like the customary international crime of slave-trading, seems discordant with the project of access to justice, to judicial remedies, and, eventually, to reparations.

One could say that it’s only because the slave-trade jurisprudence is absent, as you and I have discussed. Well, that’s still not a reason for not utilising customary international law, or indeed for amending the Rome Statute to insert slave-trading under Article 7 as a crime against humanity and slavery and the slave trade under Article 8 as war crimes. These are among our earliest international crimes. They continue to haunt parts of society and are among the most egregious long-term crimes that states have perpetrated. They should not be overlooked.

On the Bifurcation of ‘Enslavement’ and ‘Sexual Slavery’

Grey: I wanted to ask you now about two crimes that are in the Rome Statute: ‘sexual slavery’ and ‘enslavement’. As you know, there’s been a tendency in ICC cases to bring charges of ‘sexual slavery’ where sexual violence happens to a person who is enslaved. The option of charging that as ‘sexual slavery’ didn’t exist before the ICC, because previous tribunals didn’t have that crime in their statutes. Therefore, they used ‘enslavement’, as you did in Kunarac. A lot of feminist scholars see it as a win that the Rome Statute recognises both ‘sexual slavery’ and ‘enslavement’, and the Women’s Caucus pushed for this at Rome. But as you’ve written about before, this isn’t necessarily a step forward in all respects. It implies that sexual and reproductive violence are separate to ‘enslavement’, when in reality, losing control over one’s sexuality and reproductive capacity have always been part of what it means to be enslaved.Footnote 22 Can you say a few words on this? What is lost, in your view, when sexualised enslavement is charged as ‘sexual slavery’ rather than ‘enslavement’?

Sellers: Under the Rome Statute we have the crime of sexual slavery. In many ways, that was a feminist victory. That victory was very much influenced by the Kunarac case. We’d brought the first indictment (which included the enslavement charge) before the Rome Conference preparatory meetings concluded. The Kunarac appeals jurisprudence was rendered after. When you look at how enslavement is defined under customary international law, in that case, the judges opine about the psychological control over the person, the physical control, the control of the sexual access to the person, and so forth. Thus, the crime of enslavement has many indicia of how the powers attaching to the rights of ownership were exercised over the person. At that time period, there was very much of a fixation of the sexualised nature of the enslavement of the Foča women. That sexualised component of the crime of enslavement became, in some manner, reduced into sexual slavery in the Rome Statute, as opposed to being enlarged into understanding that enslavement is sexualised.

In the Rome Statute, the provision of sexual slavery highlights certain sexual acts and actually swallows up the wider enslavement, including other sexualised acts of enslavement. The elements of ‘sexual slavery’ are that someone is exercising powers of ownership over the person, and causing the person to engage in ‘acts of a sexual nature’. In essence, sexual slavery has the proverbial tail wagging the dog. Historically, enslavement usually involved sexual harms. So, I advance that we need to recapture the conceptualisation of the sexualised nature of ‘enslavement’ and eliminate the provision on ‘sexual slavery’.

Even as we examine sexualised enslavement today, being held out for an ‘act of a sexual nature’ is a reduction of what enslaved persons undergo. The current evidence of the enslavement of women and children, whether it’s Yazidis, or in ICC cases, we can understand that sexualised enslavement can mean that a person has powers attaching to any or all of the rights of ownership even without being caused to engage in an ‘act of a sexual nature’. For example, in the Ongwen case, the women who were subjected to forced pregnancy were all enslaved. But being pregnant is not seen as being caused to engage in an ‘act of a sexual nature’, so forced pregnancy was not charged as part of the sexual slavery. Likewise, the ting ting girls who were groomed as future wives, but were pre-menstrual, and who had not yet been raped, did not comprise part of the charges of sexual slavery either. Nevertheless, they endured sexualised enslavement because they were sexualised. Even while they were pre-menstrual, their enslavement was sexualised. They were guarded and watched to see what their physical sexual development would be, so that they could then be redistributed, that is slave-traded, as ‘bush wives’ when the time came. I think that boy soldiers are sexually enslaved also. They’re told when they’re allowed to rape, or be awarded a ‘wife’.

Grey: I see your point. The crime of ‘sexual slavery’ as currently defined requires proof of an ‘act of a sexual nature’. But there are ways that enslaved people are sexualised, even if they haven’t been subjected to rape, or groping, etcetera, because their captivity is sexualised in other ways.

Sellers: Absolutely. And let me give you another historical example. When examining practices in what is referred to as the East African slave trade or Arab slave trade, very often boys under eighteen were slave-traded into the harems of the Ottoman empire. During a stage of the slave trade, these youthful males were castrated. The official word is gelded. Their enslavers wanted males whose physical reproductive system was neutered in order to interact with and guard the females of the harem, who also were sexually enslaved. So, in essence, both males and the females endured a sexualised enslavement. But one couldn’t say these males would be victims under ‘sexual slavery’ in the ICC’s definition, because they were not caused to engage in an ‘act of a sexual nature’ while enslaved as eunuchs.

On Feminist Judging

Grey: I have just loved what you’ve brought to this conversation, which is the idea of how a gap in the jurisprudence back in the 1940s can continue to limit our understanding of sexual and gender-based crimes. We’ve been talking mainly about the crimes most relevant to your current ICC advisory role, being slave-trading and enslavement. But your idea holds true for other crimes as well. My final question is about what feminist or gender-sensitive judging means to you. In a way this whole interview answers that question, by thinking about how judges could have been more gender-sensitive decades ago, and how that missing jurisprudence makes it even harder for judges to fill in those gaps now. But is there anything else you would like to add to that?

Sellers: I think if we start with the premise that judgments are supposed to render justice, then a feminist lens has actually enlarged our understanding of what justice is. A feminist judgment really centres the human being in their complexity to make sure that that human receives justice. As with many social movements – the movement for ability or disability, or the movement for the environment – they allow other human beings, who might not be involved in those movements, a fuller expression of their ability to enjoy rights.

5 From Feminist Reimaginings to the Field Reflections from an International Criminal Lawyer

Introduction

Chappell: Angela, many thanks for agreeing to share your range of experiences as a practitioner in international criminal law [ICL] with us.

Can I start by you telling me about what inspired you to become an international criminal lawyer, and what positions have you held in this field?

Mudukuti: Thanks, Louise. I grew up in Zimbabwe and, at the time, it was still a racist and patriarchal society. And so, being a black woman, you find yourself at the bottom of the hierarchy. And, even as a young child, you see how people who look like you are treated. And so, from the very beginning, there was that desire, impetus, and that motivation to change things and to be a positive part of that change, and I felt like law was an empowering tool to do that. I felt very strongly about being a lawyer and being able to defend the rights of people who look like me and other people who are marginalised and not treated fairly in society. And that’s where it all started. I decided to study law as an undergraduate degree, and then I did a masters in international criminal law and spent a brief time in private practice in Zimbabwe. After that I was lucky enough to get an internship at the International Criminal Court, back in the day when they still had paid internships. That was a truly formative experience because it opened my eyes to the world of international criminal law and reaffirmed all my choices, as far as wanting to be in human rights and international criminal law.

After my internship, I was retained by the Court. I worked within the Office of the Prosecutor and learnt a great deal about how international organisations work and the challenges that come with doing this kind of work. It was interesting and exciting to be at what I envisioned then as the pinnacle of international criminal law. But I also knew it would be very valuable to build more domestic experience and to work directly with affected communities as part of civil society. Working at the Southern Africa Litigation Centre, which is the Johannesburg-based human-rights organisation, provided such an opportunity. I ran the International Criminal Justice programme, and what we were doing there was strategic litigation using international criminal law domestically. Using domestic frameworks to bring international justice is very important because I feel international criminal law cannot just happen at the ICC or at the tribunals: it needs to happen at the domestic level as well, otherwise the principle of complementarity means nothing and the sustainability of the system remains in question. So, working at that level, I was able to work on universal jurisdiction cases, including for crimes against humanity committed in Zimbabwe, to be investigated and prosecuted in South Africa. Also, the attempts to arrest former Sudanese president Omar al-Bashir when he was in South Africa – that was one of my cases as well. And so, using international law at the domestic level, making it a reality, and making it palpable, tangible, and practical, was at the core of my work at the Southern Africa Litigation Centre. I also had the honour of working with the late Professor Cherif Bassiouni at his institute in Siracusa, Italy. And, at that point, we were writing a report on the human rights violations perpetrated by the Gaddafi forces and the rebels during the time of the conflict. My role was to assist with the IHL [international humanitarian law]/ICL analysis of those crimes in the context of this report. And it was, again, just a wonderful opportunity to put everything I’d learnt and experienced into practice, and to apply it to a new situation, and also to work in a situation where the violations were ongoing. Working with Professor Cherif Bassiouni who was, of course, just full of knowledge and insight and experience, was an incredible experience, one that I’m very grateful for. Since then, I’ve worked with many other civil society organisations, for example: Human Rights Watch, Open Society Foundation – and with both Human Rights Watch and Open Society Foundation the role was multifaceted, but one of the key things was institutional reform at the ICC. Because, of course, the ICC has had its struggles, it’s not a perfect institution, and civil society is very proactively involved in trying to make sure we have the most efficient and effective court possible. That included looking at issues such as workplace harassment, bullying, the way in which officials are elected at the ICC, gender balance, geographical balance. Because, ultimately, we need institutions like the ICC to be in peak form internally, to better position themselves to fulfil their mandate. So, it was great to work in that context as well and, having been at the ICC, I knew how things worked on the inside. Working on the outside to improve the inside was a great experience. It was also an opportunity to remain constructively critical as a supporter of the Court, as a person who wants the best for the Court.

Over the course of my career, I have also been engaged in capacity-building: training investigators and prosecutors on how to best investigate and prosecute international crimes within their domestic contexts. I did this among other things at the Wayamo Foundation, where we were training prosecutors and investigators in several African countries – Nigeria, Kenya, Tanzania, Rwanda – and it was particularly interesting, again, because it was centred on this idea of making international justice sustainable, which means domestic prosecutors and investigators have to be equipped to do the job, otherwise it’s very difficult to make progress. Working with different legal cultures, different legal traditions was particularly valuable because you have a much better appreciation of the constraints within each system. And so knowing that and how to best navigate these constraints depending on the situation was very helpful and also just a reality check as far as what happens at the international level and what happens at the domestic level, and how to marry those two, and how it is sometimes very difficult to do that. But finding ways was part of the role, and I enjoyed doing that work. I’ve been an independent consultant for the last couple of years and working with different organisations on different issues, including accountability for sexual and gender-based violence, and that’s included amicus briefs at the ICC and before domestic courts. And also, speaking out and doing a lot of research and writing on decolonising international criminal justice and human rights, and reconsidering how we work within this framework that, unfortunately, does not acknowledge the inherent bias that’s been built in over time. And so, in a nutshell – sorry, a very big nutshell – that’s basically what I’ve been doing with my time.

On Intersectionality

Chappell: That’s incredible, Angela – such a diverse and rich range of experiences which very few people have. So many people in ICL get channelled into silos, either at the international or domestic level, but crossing over between them as you have done doesn’t happen so often. You’ve really been able to see the key touchpoints across the entire ICL: the system, understanding where things link together and where they are falling short.

So, Angela, given your breadth of experience in the international criminal justice field, what’s your view about the body of law that we have to work with: customary law, case law, jurisprudence of the different tribunals, and the Rome Statute, as it’s been interpreted? Is it adequate for addressing the intersectional nature of atrocity and, if not, what would you suggest is needed to transform the ICL system to better recognise intersectionality?

Mudukuti: Intersectionality is key and it is built in, in some parts of the body of law you’ve mentioned. For example, the Rome Statute, Article 21(3) talks about intersectionality – not that it names it explicitly – but that’s the way the principle has been applied. And I think it makes a lot of sense. The current bodies of law that we have, they’re obviously very useful and have been instrumental to bringing justice for core international crimes. But I do think that there is a lot more that can be done and, by that, I mean to be truly intersectional in our approach we need to understand that these laws, these institutions, were not built in a vacuum, they were built within a particular political and geopolitical dynamic which, unfortunately, has always been colonial in nature. And so, I think we need to understand that and understand how it’s affected the jurisprudence, and how it’s affected the laws we have today. The way in which we can understand that is to look at other disciplines. For example, third-world approaches to law or critical race theory, and all the different types of feminism. There’s a very nice quote from Angela Davis. She says: ‘Feminism involves so much more than gender equality. It involves so much more than gender.’Footnote 1 And this is exactly what we need to understand: within each of these disciplines, there are multiple lenses through which we can look at them. And I think international criminal law needs to be looked at through these different lenses. We need to understand that these disciplines bring value that will ultimately help us fully understand the intersectional nature of atrocity crimes. So I think we need to be more expansive in our thinking there.

I also think that we need to understand that the racial and the geographic makeup of these institutions – the ICC in particular, for example – leaves a lot to be desired. Right now at the International Criminal Court, out of the 473 professional staff at the ICC, 256 of them come from the Western Europe and Others group, otherwise known as the WEOG. It’s essentially the Global North. That’s more than half of the professional staff at the ICC who come from one of five regions. At the leadership level, nationals from WEOG also hold the most senior positions: currently a staggering 55.6 per cent of the most senior D1 positions; and high percentages across the second and third most senior roles, with 72 per cent of P5 positions and 56 per cent of P4 positions.

Given that we’re talking about the coloniality of this field, having one group of people predominantly white, predominantly from the Global North, be responsible or in charge of these organisations, I think is detrimental. International institutions like the ICC have to be diverse. We have to have people from all regions. The system recognises five regions. We need to see that on staff. In reflecting on these worrying statistics, one has to think about how that came to be and one of the sources is an actual ASP [Assembly of States Parties] resolution, which states, in relation to staffing, ‘the Court’s selection of staff in the Professional category is guided by a system of desirable ranges based on that of the United Nations’.Footnote 2 The desirable ranges, or in other words percentages, are calculated by considering three factors: the total number of state parties, a state’s financial contribution to the budget, and its population size. These factors are attributed weights that determine the final outcome. At present, substantial weight is given to membership (40 per cent), which is equal for each state party, the greatest importance is given to the state’s contribution (55 per cent), and the final 5 per cent is determined according to the population size of the country. Therefore, your state’s financial contribution affects staffing positions at the ICC. I think this is hugely problematic because it can result in the exclusion of those people who do not come from states that, for whatever reason, provide less money to the ICC. And that results in the skewed dynamic where most of the Court staff members come from Western Europe. I don’t think that’s a sustainable system. It needs to change.

The staff composition affects how cases are approached, how investigators engage with victims and survivors, how they interpret and collect evidence. This affects how the case is framed, presented, and brought before the judges and then, ultimately, on the bench itself, it has to be a diverse bench because how they render their judgments is influenced by their own legal and cultural background, and other factors such as race or their own intersecting identities, for example. We can’t divorce these things. These things all influence the jurisprudence that comes out of the Court. So, my message is always one for diversity and not just racial diversity, not just geographical diversity, but also, of course, gender. At the ICC right now, unfortunately, we’re still stuck in the two binaries. We only have statistics for men and women, there’s nothing else, which is something that needs to be addressed but, even when we look at those statistics alone, at the ICC now, in terms of professional staff, it’s roughly 48 per cent female and then the rest is male, which may not seem so bad but the problem is, when you dig deeper, you see that the leadership positions are predominantly held by men. And so what we have at the ICC is an organisation that is predominantly led by men from the Global North, who are usually white. Now, there are exceptions to this of course, but that’s the general situation, and that has to change because we need a system that is fully representative and inclusive because all of this affects intersectionality. Intersectionality includes looking at who is doing the work and where they come from, and I think that’s essential because it affects how they go about the work; and if we’re actually going to deliver justice for core international crimes we have to be intersectional in our approach.

Chappell: That’s so important to bring that together, both the physical beings who are there as well as the way that anyone thinks about intersectionality …

Mudukuti: Louise, can I also just add: I think the primary thing we should all be focused on is understanding the lived experience of the victims and survivors. And, if everybody who is engaging with victims, witnesses, and survivors comes from one group, one region out of five regions, there’s a lot that could be missed: cultural nuances, subtleties. And, if we fully want to understand the nature of atrocity, we have to fully understand the intersectional harm endured by victims and witnesses, and I just think we could all do more to improve this.

Geographical and Gender Representation Integral to Judicial Integrity

Chappell: I agree with you Angela. I think you’ve really touched on a critical point there. I’d like to turn now to your publications and work on judicial integrity and independence and about the nomination and election of judges at the ICC. What reflections do you have about the composition of the bench in particular and the skills, qualifications, qualities, that are needed to be a judge at the ICC? And what are some of the ways to ensure that we get the most qualified judges possible?

Mudukuti: I think the first point is one that I made earlier, which is about the diversity of the bench; geographical representation on the bench. At this point, again, the bench is very heavy as far as WEOG representation is concerned. Currently, six out of eighteen judges are from WEOG. Before the 2020 election, the women were greatly outnumbered. There were six female judges and twelve men. Thankfully, that’s changed now. We do have gender parity on the bench, which is wonderful, and it’s taken long enough but I think these two metrics need to be considered as we look at the bench and the composition of the bench because, as I mentioned, it affects how international criminal jurisprudence develops. For example, we all know the influence Judge Navi Pillay has had on accountability for sexual violence when she sat on the ICTR [International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda] bench.

I think we need to look at the responsibility state parties to the Rome Statute bear, because they nominate judicial candidates through their national nominations system and then they elect judges. They need to nominate women and men, not just men. They also need to conduct elections in a way that recognises the need for geographical representation. So I think the burden there is on state parties to rectify that system. As far as the qualities, qualifications, and skills are concerned, I think the Rome Statute does have some good criteria, including high moral character. But I think there is a lack of specificity, for example, to be a P4 at the ICC, you need a certain number of years of experience before you’re even considered for the job. For judges, there is no specified number of relevant years of legal experience. As a consequence, the levels of experience on the bench are inconsistent. So, I think we need more specificity and detail as far as the qualifications and skills requirement for judicial elections. But, again, this is something that state parties need to negotiate and agree on, and that hasn’t always been easy. There’s a lot of work to be done there.

Chappell: Do you think there’s an appetite in the Assembly of States Parties to think about either adding more qualifications or even just paying more attention to the quality of the candidates? Have you noticed any moves in that direction at all?

Mudukuti: I think there are some states which recognise that this has been a problem and they’re eager to change it. There’s been a lot of discussion on improving national nomination processes because national nomination processes are how we get judges in the first place. States will put forward candidates, and in some states there is no process. You get nominated when you have friends in high places at the time regardless of your qualifications. Open Society Justice Initiative has done some great research in this area. In some states, the national nomination procedure is not always merit-based and being part of the political elite has been the key to being nominated. There has been no process to vet you or to check your qualifications, or to check that you’re the best person for the job. There are states which have shown leadership on this and have begun to change the national nomination processes, and are trying to encourage other states to do the same. But ultimately, I think there is a reluctance that, I wouldn’t say is malicious, but I think, for some states, it’s a case of prioritising. They don’t see this as an urgent issue that needs to be resolved. Other states feel it’s convenient that there is a quick and easy ‘process’ to nominate someone, so to be asked to go back to a national nomination process and to tell the public how you appointed someone, and what your process is, is seen as a nuisance and an inconvenience. But now the Advisory Committee on the Nomination of Judges plays a far more active role and they do request states to explain their national nomination process. Some states have done that, other states have not. There is potential and there is movement but it is going to take some time until everybody feels like this is a priority and that the system should be standardised.

Chappell: That’s so interesting. I do think that the committee’s work is important but, as you say, there’s a lot of reasons why states might make particular appointments and don’t want the Assembly or the ICC getting involved in domestic affairs, necessarily. So, it’s tough.

On Civil Society and Advancing Gender and Racial Justice

Chappell: My next question for you is, given your experience working in civil society organisations in the international criminal justice field, what role do you think these organisations have in holding the ICC and other international tribunals to account, to advocate particularly for gender and racial justice, including on the bench? In your view, what could these organisations do better to advance these goals?

Mudukuti: I’ve worked as a member of civil society on exactly these issues and I can tell you that civil society organisations do a great deal in holding the ICC to account, including advocating for internal reform, for example, better workplace conditions and the eradication of discrimination and harassment, gender and geographical balance, as well as pushing the Court to more effectively execute its mandate. I think it’s very important work. Civil society’s been very active for many years in different ways, on institutional reform issues, but at the end of the day, it’s about state parties changing the system. It’s about state parties prioritising gender balance on the bench, gender balance at the ICC, and geographical balance. And it’s the work of civil society to try and convince states to do that. But I think it’s also on states to recognise the urgency and the need to change this because, as we’ve seen in the past, the ICC has been accused of targeting a certain group in its investigations and prosecutions. Whilst I think that accusation and resulting discussions lack nuance and have been oversimplified and abused by those seeking to escape accountability for grave crimes, the point is, it is a perception and having staff composed predominately of people from the WEOG region is not helping and ought to be addressed.

However, I should note that we have seen some important shifts: for example, the Office of the Prosecutor has diversified the geography of its docket – especially if you look at preliminary examinations. Five years ago they were mostly African situations and now that has shifted. So, there is a recognition of the need to geographically diversify the ICC’s docket, as far as situations under investigation or prosecution.

But ultimately, state parties are responsible for championing issues of internal institutional reform because they have power as an Assembly to make important changes. So, it’s not just up to civil society; I think we need to also acknowledge the role that state parties play in this, and the influence they have.

Chappell: An important issue you’re raising here is the importance for civil society not only to be operating at the international level in and around the Court but at the domestic level as well. It reinforces the point that we need to be working at multiple levels at once, to make sure that states are sensitive enough to issues of diversity and representation when they get to the floor of the ASP.

So, the next question: What do you think is required for judges at the ICC to acknowledge and act on the intersectional qualities of international crimes and their survivors?

Mudukuti: I think this ties up nicely with the first question. I would say that just an understanding that there are different disciplines that can inform how we approach international criminal justice, so looking at third-world approaches to international law, critical race theory, feminism, improves intersectional judging. I think it’s very important for judges to be open to those disciplines as a lens. Obviously, at the end of the day they have to write a judgment that’s founded on international criminal law and human rights law, having carefully weighed the evidence; but how you view the law, I think, can be positively influenced when you are aware of other schools of thought and the context in which the ICC and international criminal justice were born. So, I think knowledge of and an openness to understanding and appreciating what those different disciplines or schools of thought could bring is useful. I think judges also need to be open to continuous learning and approach it with humility. There is this perception – and I’ve seen this at the domestic level and international level, in all my capacity-building efforts – that you cannot have a workshop for judges and call it ‘capacity-building’ because some judges believe that is inappropriate given their level of seniority. So, you call it a ‘retreat’ instead, and that’s fine, but the point is continuous learning for everybody is not a bad idea. The ICC does have annual retreats for judges, so I think there are valuable opportunities to augment the skills and experience judges already have.

I think the admission of amicus briefs is a practice that should continue. No one judge is an expert on absolutely every facet of the law: that’s impossible. But, when you allow amicus briefs, you’re giving other experts the opportunity to act as friend of the Court and provide insights that could positively contribute to the jurisprudence.

We saw it recently with the Ongwen Appeals Chamber process where they admitted roughly nineteen amicus briefs. This is a great practice because you’re bringing different perspectives to the table. Acknowledging the realistic limits of any one person, any one judge, one bench, and allowing other experts to feed into the process is absolutely essential. What happened in the Ongwen Appeals Chamber process was progressive because different amicus briefs were accepted, many different perspectives were put before the Court, and the judges were able to draw from those in reaching their final conclusion. That should continue. Obviously, we need to be mindful of not extending judicial proceedings longer than they have to be, and that does happen when you have many amicus briefs, but I think there’s a way in which to balance this, because we don’t want trials that take decades of course, but we also want to make sure that we get the best judgment, especially at the appeals level, and amicus briefs can contribute a great deal.

On the Value of Amicus Briefs

Chappell: Well, that brings us nicely to my last question. How important do you think it’s been to have amicus curiae briefs presented in cases including sexual-violence crimes? Do you think these interventions have shifted the bench’s view around sexual violence or intersectional issues in particular?

Mudukuti: I think, particularly looking at the Ongwen process where I submitted an amicus brief along with other incredible minds, including several authors in this book, was a good example of bringing different expertise to the process. For example, where certain issues were not covered by the main parties, amici were able to cover these issues. As with anything in life, you will have submissions that take us forward and some that do the opposite but accepting different views is very important from a due process standpoint. What I will say though is, when I look at all the amicus briefs that were accepted by the appeals chamber, unfortunately, again, it was mostly people from the Global North, and mostly there were a lot of briefs from men, for example, which is fine – it’s valuable – but I think we need to make sure that voices or groups that are marginalised or usually excluded from these processes are included. I would have loved to see more submissions from African scholars, from Ugandan scholars, from women, regardless of whether they identify as feminist or not. That’s a challenge that can be overcome. There are other challenges: for example, the deadlines were very tight. We had three weeks to submit leave to intervene and then the full brief was required a month later. Now, if you’re a practitioner on the ground, working on several issues at the same time, it’s very hard to turn over a draft in such a short space of time. Again, I am mindful of the need to have deadlines and not unnecessarily prolong proceedings, but balance is needed. And, also, how far and wide was this call for amicus briefs shared? I don’t think it went very far. I have recently spoken to people who didn’t even know it was an option. So, I think there are some things you can change including publishing calls for submissions as far as possible to reach a wider audience – and I think it’s on all of us, not just the Court, not just civil society. I think anybody who cares about this field needs to be more proactive in bringing different voices to bear on international justice at the ICC.

Chappell: Again, I think you’re pointing to a resource issue here too, aren’t you? If you have such a tight timeframe but you don’t necessarily have the resources in your small NGO [non-governmental organisation], it’s very hard to turn something around like that very quickly. Do you think there is anything in particular that explains why the Appeals Chamber allowed so many briefs in the Ongwen case? Is there something unique to Ongwen, or do you think the ICC is gradually becoming more open to amicus briefs in general?

Mudukuti: It’s a very good question. I cannot say for certain but perhaps it was a combination of factors, such as a recognition that there are experts outside of the Court who can add value and should be allowed to participate in proceedings of this nature. I think that’s also something that we’ve seen evolve over time. My hope is that other chambers will follow suit. But we have to balance that with the length of proceedings and just how long it takes to make all of this happen, and to make sure you’re including everybody.

Chappell: It does stand out as a very good example, I think. And, as we’ve seen over the years, the expertise for writing these briefs is building over time, which is also important.

Angela, thank you again for providing such important insights into the operation of the ICC, intersectionality, and judging. It’s been fascinating for me and I’m sure for the readers of our book too.

6 Intersectionality, Feminist Judgments, and the International Criminal Court Whose Feminist Is It Anyway?

Introduction

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Ted Talk, ‘We Should All Be Feminists’,Footnote 1 has garnered over 5 million views on YouTube. The simple argument she makes is that despite the vastness of the term ‘feminism’, at the root of it is the need to respect, accept, and include the diversity in how feminism presents itself, how it is constructed, and, most importantly, how it affects different women differently. Despite the provocative examples drawn from her positionality as a Nigerian, an African, a woman of Igbo descent, a writer, and the list goes on, what is still not clear in her narrative is which feminism Adichie is referring to, or whose feminist/feminism she is talking about. How will she ascribe or describe feminism based on one single identity or the intersection of the multiple identities she embodies?

When I was invited to write a chapter for this edited volume, my first reaction was whether I could speak for and on behalf of the millions of women standing at the multiple intersections socially constructed by societies and the temporal spaces we occupy. Many of these intersections predate the historical development of this feminist judging project, and many other intersections keep developing each day. In line with feminist praxis and academic reflexivity,Footnote 2 I examined my positionality as woman, Black, African, Ghanaian, Basare, lawyer, academic, mother, and many other identities I inhabit. Did my positionality as a Black woman make me an expert on intersectionality? If not, who had the right or the qualifications to speak or write on this concept of intersectionality?

Drawing on the works of an interdisciplinarity collection of Black feminist scholars, the concept of multiple and intersecting axes of oppression and exclusion has long informed the work of critical race scholars.Footnote 3 Taken up by Black feminist legal scholars,Footnote 4 the concept of intersectionality has travelled the colour and gender boundaries, as well as geographic boundaries, to gain global recognition and potency in explaining the lives, experiences, and complexities of minoritised people.Footnote 5

In writing this chapter, I decided to adopt a critical approach in evaluating the feminist judgment projects (FJP) that exist to date. Having surveyed details about their beginnings, methodologies, and epistemological approaches, I understand that what binds all these projects together is applying a feminist lens to reimagine these judgments if they had considered gender as a socially constructed variable and ordering principle in societies. Most importantly, the goal of these projects, as I understand them, is to engage in a judicial and ideological rewinding and recasting of what a gender-inclusive law-making process would look like in order to expand access to justice for women. In applying a feminist lens and paying attention to gendered constructs, would future judgments from international courts, and the International Criminal Court (ICC) specifically, be fair and equitable? Would judges, prosecutors, and staffers question the gendered nature of the tools, paradigms, codes, and law-making processes they apply to arrive at the decisions they make?

In exploring the idea of a feminist reimagination, we must begin from a place of a feminist recasting of the challenges, social hierarchies, barriers, constraints, and opportunities that give birth to, maintain, and advance the multiple discriminations, exclusions, and erasures some groups of people face in societies across the world. The feminist reimagination must be anchored in helping us understand and bring into conversation the normative (what the ‘feminine sensitive’ law ought to be) versus the empirical (what the ‘non-feminine-sensitive’ law is). The chapters in this book attempt to peel back the historical layers of time, precedent, judicial reasoning, and legal principles that were cast in a male-centric gaze. Born out of a highly patriarchal system of international lawFootnote 6 and a highly racist imperial system,Footnote 7 principles of international law and international justice have stood the test of time. These principles have endured because each time these cases made it to court as precedents (in common law jurisdictions), the masculine ethos upon which they were built re-emerge in one form or the other, thereby solidifying the magma of male-centred and male-biased judicial reasoning.

The current FJP is taking these pieces of gender-blind decisions and refashioning them as examples of feminist judicial decision-making. This time around, the magma is placed in the hands of individuals (academics, lawyers, activists, and so on) who are gender-aware, gender-conscious, and gender-sensitive. Their role as the new judicial goldsmiths is to turn this magma into something new – that is, a ‘decision’ that has all the contours, imagery, and marks of a feminist-informed and gender-inclusive work of art – a feminist-sensitive judgment.

Before I progress, I wish to position myself in relation to my reflection. I draw on liberatory academic praxisFootnote 8 in declaring that I speak from my positionality as a woman, a cisgender woman, a woman whose roots are in the continent of Africa, a highly educated woman (with a law degree and a doctorate). I also declare my positionality as a scholar whose works focus on Africa – a region too vast for me to claim to be an expert on all the forms and varieties of gender and feminist issues. I recognise that some claim to be ‘African’ experts, but I am opposed to this notion of a broad-brush representation of a continent of over a billion people and multiple cultures and lived experiences. With these declarations, I am making it clear that I do not stand as a voice that speaks on behalf of all women or gender issues explored in this book and beyond. As a feminist scholar, I practise my liberatory feminism through the lens of African feminism, postcolonial feminism, and feminist legal theory. I have acquired the training and skills to critically analyse and evaluate other forms of feminism, bodies of knowledge, and theories. I am approaching this chapter with the goal of reflecting from my positionality as an African feminist academic to question how best the communities of scholars, activists, lawyers, and others engaged in gender equality might approach the issue of intersectionality in international criminal law. I recognise that the original discussions of intersectionality by Black feminist scholars sought to decentre race and gender as the two main axes of oppression.Footnote 9

My understanding of the feminist judgment project is that it fixes its gaze on ‘feminist methods, tools, and theories’ as the defining feature of rewriting these judgments. Consequently, ‘feminism’ is used as a proxy to discuss how women and other marginalised groups are overlooked, erased, or treated unjustly through the judicial pens of some judges who made these earlier decisions. In the ensuing discussion, I explore the merits and demerits of applying an intersectional lens to the projects of feminist reimagination. In doing so, I briefly lay the cornerstones of the intersectionality framework as propounded by Black feminist scholars in the United States and popularised by the work of Black socio-legal scholar Kimberlè Crenshaw.Footnote 10

The next section of the chapter raises a series of questions for scholars to think about as the feminist judgment project grows in number and breadth of coverage by geography and legal issue area. It grapples with, and attempts to answer, the following questions: What does intersectionality mean? What does/doesn’t it bring to the law? The third section makes the connection between FJPs and intersectionality by posing and answering the question: How can the current project and other FJPs benefit from applying an intersectional lens to their judgment rewriting? It also weaves into the analyses of why the ICC needs to apply an intersectional lens in all its activities, from hiring staffers to delivering judgments. The fourth section provides recommendations and directions for three key constituents – the ICC Chambers/Assembly of State Parties, the Registry, and scholars/researchers writing these reimagined judgments. The last section concludes the chapter.

Some Merits and Demerits of Intersectionality as a Tool for Feminist Equity and Judgment

As a theoretical framework for analysing different identities and how they intersect to create a multiplier effect on individuals facing discrimination, intersectionality has spread its theoretical tentacles around the world (geography) and subject matter (disciplines). Popularised by Kimberlè Crenshaw, the concept of intersectionality dominated the discussions of Black feminist scholars who examined how Black women are subjected to multiple axes of interconnected experiences of discrimination as a result of their race, gender, and other marginalised situatedness.Footnote 11

Tracing the roots of the theory of intersectionality is itself an emancipatory act of feminism – one that requires the decentring of masculinities (gender) or, in this case, whiteness (race) as the loci of knowledge production and theoretical formulation. Crediting Black feminist scholars for developing this theory is itself a necessary act of recognising the need to centre the voice, agency, and capabilities of Black women as creators of knowledge.

But what do we know about intersectionality as a process to reach the desired end of achieving an equitable judicial decision? A decision that considers both the visible and invisible, the temporal and the non-temporal, the oppressors and the privileged? To what extent are all these oppositional forces, and many more not listed here, necessary when making a judicial decision?

Intersectionality as theory has helped expand our thinking of the possibilities of law – what the law can do when viewed through the lens of a feminist ideal of equity, fairness, and inclusion. The growing list of feminist rewritten judgments highlights how identities of race, gender, age, language, geography, sexuality, health status, marital status, and so on, may additively converge to create less optimal outcomes for those seeking justice. But are these projects truly inclusive? To what extent does each of these identities capture the centrality of different lived experiences? An analysis of the rewritten cases and commentaries in the current volume raises several questions that may be necessary for other feminist judgment projects.

The Merits

Intersectionality as a feminist framework has proven to possess the theoretical rigour to explain the lived experiences of diverse groups. The replicability and generalisability of intersectionality must however be weighed against the feminist principle of essentialism.Footnote 12 In applying an intersectional lens, judges, prosecutors, and judicial staff can understand how the racial, gender, class, and social categories affect and determine who is a victim of a criminal offence. Through an intersectional lens, judges may also gain some insights into how language affects how defendants express themselves in court, thereby allowing judges to seek a deeper understanding of language, cultural, ethnic, and religious codes.Footnote 13 From a feminist perspective, intersectionality can help illuminate how women’s lives are constructed as victims, why women victims may not express themselves with particular words, and how their age and social standing impact what they say in court. An example of the latter experience is captured in the words of Ugandan Judge Julia Sebutinde, the first African woman to serve on the bench of the International Court of Justice:

Although I am a judge, I’m also a mother. I’m also a wife. I’m also somebody’s daughter. Do I put my human emotions … in these cases? Are we not the human face of justice? I think we are. For example, as I preside over the trial if I notice that a defense lawyer is harassing and badgering an old woman during cross-examination who is struggling to recount a horrific rape she endured, publicly, with a view maybe to intimidating or humiliating her, can you not forgive me for interjecting and saying: ‘Counsel, you are out of order.’ We understand the witness. Am I not allowed to read that women’s body language? If she’s not able to raise her eyes because of the feeling of shame? If all she can do is to mumble with her eyes downcast and narrate her story the best way she can, should we disbelieve her testimony? I recall a woman aged 70 years old who was gang-raped and had to testify before us about it. And this is a story I’m telling you that happened in Sierra Leone. She couldn’t even look at the judges or anybody because her husband and grown children were sitting in the front row. These are gender sensitivities that our male colleagues may not even be aware of during the trial.Footnote 14

The Demerits

There are several pitfalls that must be avoided in attempts to apply intersectionality in international criminal cases before the ICC or other criminal courts. First, it is critical to understand that not all individuals within a socially constructed group face the same oppression. For example, not all women victims of a criminal offence in a conflict will be heterosexual, of the same age, practise the same religion, or have the same educational achievements. These categories show the need to adopt an intra-category approach to decipher the differences within groups.Footnote 15 Second, applying an intersectional lens may open a Pandora’s box of claims that may not be apparent to the most well-versed scholars of intersectionality. For instance, how will judges react to new claims of categorical identities that claim special protections due to new identities developed out of artificial intelligence? Will an avatar or a robot be allowed to claim special prosecutorial or judicial protections? These are just two examples of what could emerge as judges grapple with new rights and freedoms.

Reimagining Judgments: Is Feminism Enough?

Is the application of an intersectional lens enough to cover the universe of discriminatory treatments individuals face in society and by extension in the courtroom? In the same line of questioning, is feminism a concept that has near-universal application to the issues faced by women and other marginalised groups? In this section, I explore several questions and themes on whether ‘feminism/feminist’ is the right description for the rewritten judgments. I base my critique and evaluation on several assumptions inherent in the way these rewritten feminist judgments may have been constructed.

What Is Feminism and Whose Feminism?

If we proceed on the assumption that feminism is about seeking equality between men and women in society, several questions come to the fore. First, the question is, who is the woman we are referring to in this context? How can we assess the personal inclinations or lived experiences of the judgment writers to make an assessment of how well they understand the issues of Indigenous/Aboriginal/Native American/‘Third World’/‘Muslim’, and other marginalised groups of women? Or the plight of immigrant, disabled, sex-trafficked women? To what extent are the lives of these ‘other’ women just an exercise in a dark alley of feminist knowing for the judgment writers if the writer has not lived in those conditions and experienced the daily and historical marginalisations of the very group they purport to ‘save’ through their rewriting exercise?

Who is the ‘woman’ for the purposes of these judgments? To what extent are these projects considering ‘feminism’ not from a biological deterministic binary of the female, but feminism more as a belief system (which, though it benefits from feminine ways of being) is not the exclusive preserve of women? Global feminist movements have helped to advance women’s rights around the world. Yet these movements have not been without their tensions as feminist-ideological battles have been waged by and among women/feminists. Drawing on the works of postcolonial and decolonial feminists,Footnote 16 the bifurcation of the global feminist movement into the ‘developed’ and ‘developing’, ‘first, second, and third’ worlds has led to the ‘othering’ of a large swath of women in the world. Scholars have called for a true global sisterhood, informed by a collective and inclusive mobilisation around women’s issues.Footnote 17 As the different FJPs attempt to reimagine a just world through a feminist lens, it is important to begin the exercise from a place of self-reflection to understand the extent to which the lives and experiences of ‘othered’ and ‘third world women’ may be centred vis-à-vis feminist legal principles that purport to produce just, equitable, and feminist-inclusive jurisprudence.

Which Intersections Matter or Which Are We (Re)marginalising?

At the heart of intersectionality is the need to recognise the multiplicity and simultaneity of oppressions. Women victims embody multiple identities; thus, it is when architects of justice choose one and not other identities that the gravest injustices can occur. The rewritten judgments in this volume run the risk of reproducing marginalisation. As the co-editors note in Chapter 2, due to the overwhelming number of issues in each of the ICC cases/situations under review, authors were tasked with picking and focusing on one issue only. Since this project is an exercise in showing the possibilities of future judgments, it is hoped that this message will be strongly shared with those who will be relying on these rewritten judgments as guideposts – there is more to be said and done. As suggested earlier, the task of judges, prosecutors, and judicial staff in peeling back their personal biases, stereotypes, and lack of knowledge about the lived realities of the litigants before them; and this requires training. Training programmes on (un)conscious bias and intercultural competence will be helpful in moving these actors to a place of awareness. Nonetheless, awareness is not enough to counteract the insidious impact of deep-seated biases. As the famous Black feminist scholar and poet Audre Lorde noted, the ‘master’s tools will never destroy the master’s house’.Footnote 18 The tools of patriarchy and racial, class, ethnic, and religious discrimination are ‘houses’ of oppression with deep foundations. To break down these ‘houses’ requires the adoption of holistic approaches to naming, centring, and hearing the voices of marginalised groups. How will judges and judicial staff determine which intersectional identities need to be protected? Will gender trump race? Will disability trump sexual orientation? Will social class trump geographical location (Global North versus Global South)? These are critical questions to be answered in order to avoid the vicissitudes of remarginalising groups that are already marginalised. When the latter happens, we are reconfirming the second part of Audre Lorde’s famous quote, ‘they may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change’.Footnote 19

Coloniality as a Vehicle for Patriarchy and Racism

Given the criticism against the ICC for its focus on the African continent, it is no surprise that the majority of the rewritten judgments in this volume deal with cases emanating from Africa.Footnote 20 The co-editors in Chapter 2, and some of the contributors, including Angela Mudukuti in Chapter 5, have reflected on the role of imperialism and colonisation as factors explaining the overwhelmingly African cases that have come before the ICC bench. Beyond the impact of colonisation on the spatial borders of these countries, it is essential to question the role of coloniality as a constant state of being, one that lies beyond physical occupation, as a continuity of imperial patriarchy and racism around the world. While physical colonisation may have ended, coloniality as an idea of subjugation continues to be a principal means of control over the political, economic, linguistic, and legal systems of former colonies.Footnote 21 The Rome Statute establishing the ICC attempted to create a diverse bench by considering geography and area of expertise. These modest gains at a diverse bench do not shield the court from failing to account for the nuances in the historical, socio-cultural, and myriad other contexts within which these cases emerge. While the racial and gender diversity of the court has been touted, little has been said about the staffers and legal officers who handle the daily operations of these courts. These important issues are beginning to receive some scholarly attention and also form part of the conversation between Angela Mudukuti and Louise Chappell in this volume (Chapter 5).Footnote 22 To what extent are these staff positions diverse and inclusive? As these feminist judges emerge, how might authors (rewriting judgments) understand the continuity of coloniality and the extent to which it affects and determines the commission of some of these crimes? Who might charges be brought against, and who should be held accountable for the crimes? To what extent is coloniality a constant state of oppression that marginalises individuals along a wide spectrum of discriminatory acts and omissions?

The African Feminist Judgments: Is Africa a Continent or a Country?

The traction gained by the first feminist rewritten judgments is remarkable. One thing that has stood out about these projects is the focus on individual countries as the units of analysis.Footnote 23 Why is it that in the context of countries in Africa, the project has been lumped into the ‘African Feminist Judgments Project’? Is this overgeneralisation and over-homogenisation of a continent of over a billion people not problematic and emblematic of how the issues that arise out of the first judgments stand to be repeated in other forms if the generalisation is not addressed? How can we realistically apply an intersectional lens to a continent that has probably one of the most diverse legal systems – combining transplanted civil law from the French colonial empire, common law from the British colonial empire, Islamic law from invasions from the Middle East, all of which operate side by side with indigenous customary legal systems? The historical, social, political, economic, linguistic, ethnic, and other identities and experiences are too numerous to cluster into one lived experience. What operates as patriarchy may operate as matriarchy in another culture within the same country.Footnote 24 How do we decipher and classify age as a social category and its impact in determining women’s situational ranking in different national contexts?

Who are the Judges and the Registry Officials

Much of the early scholarship on international courts and tribunals focused on who international court judges were, and how they were selected.Footnote 25 While the issue of descriptive diversity on the bench is still instructive, other explorations of diversity beyond the usual issues of race, gender, and geography are gaining traction. Freya Baeten’s edited volume Identity and Diversity on the International BenchFootnote 26 explores many themes, including language, ethnic, religious, and geographic diversity. While ethnic and religious diversity were debunked as not being critical factors in considering diversity on the bench, writing from personal experiences as an international judge, Judge Nosworthy maintained the importance of cultivating an inclusive climate on the bench that allows the minoritised judge from a ‘tiny island’ to be heard and seen as an equal voice.Footnote 27 Many other examples abound of minority (mostly women) judges who questioned how their intersecting identities would affect their presence on the bench.Footnote 28 These reflections by the judges who sit on these courts are instructive because they signal the continuity of social and judicial power hierarchies even on the benches of international courts.

Overwhelmingly, the staff who constitute the registry of these courts are also drawn from geographically dominant, Western countries. We must therefore question to what extent the feminist rewriters reproduce these inherent power hierarchies by failing to question the composition of those who provide essential administrative functions for the Court. What principles of soft law are at play when feminist judgment rewriters write from positions of relative privilege when compared to the lives of the people in the cases they are deliberating? To what extent are the original evidence and the facts of the case they are rewriting coded in language presenting barriers which they may not be able to decode? To what extent will the judgment rewriters have access to the non-verbal communications and cues that were present in the courtroom during the original cases, and how did such non-verbal communication influence the decisions of the judges? These are practical questions to explore as we engage in the liberatory exercise of (re)writing these feminist judgments through a feminist intersectional lens.

Women Judges and the Intersectional Burden

Most feminist analyses operate from the assumption that women will understand women’s issues. This assumption leads to the expectation that women should be at the forefront of finding solutions to women’s issues. These assumptions mostly hold true because women can relate to women’s issues by ‘stepping into’ the imaginary shoes of other women. This ability to transpose into the reality of another woman was crucial in important international criminal cases such as the Anto Furundzija and Kunarac et al. cases, where Justice Florence Ndepele Mumba presided, and where for the first time the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) pronounced sexual violence in the form of rape as crimes against humanity, war crimes, and torture. In the Akayesu case involving Judge Navi Pillay, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) held rape as a war crime. Equally, in the Sierra Leone case Trial Chamber II, AFRC Judgment, Judge Sebutinde’s concurring opinion in distinguishing between marriage in a time of peace and ‘forced marriage’ in a time of war helped established important principles of criminal conduct in conflict situations.Footnote 29

Despite these examples of the contributions of women judges to developing jurisprudence on international criminal law, we must be cognisant of the fact that not all women are feminists, and not all women will understand the intersectional challenges of other women. In Intersectionality and Women’s Access to Justice in AfricaFootnote 30 I introduced the concept of layered intersectionality. This framework makes the argument that women judges face both oppression and privilege in their access to the courtroom as judges. The level of personal oppression they have faced can inform the extent to which they relate to other women facing similar or different challenges. The oppression need not be personal and can be communal, thus allowing them to relate to what others are facing as women.

Thus, while it may be easier for women to relate to these intersectional burdens, not all women can relate, while some make no effort to relate, limited by the judicial principles of ‘impartiality’. An anti-essentialist reading of this burden women bear as frontline workers in understanding other women’s experiences is important. Until the essence of anti-essentialism is achieved, the extent to which feminist judgment rewriters can explore the detailed socio-cultural understandings of the victims (or purported victims) must be at the forefront in grounding these judgments in an intersectional framework. Understanding women’s situational identities should be the task of all judges – both men and women.

Feminist Judgments beyond Gender: Where Are the Men?

Is feminism intrinsically female? Can feminists confidently profess to represent the many marginalised voices that lie at the substrata of the intersectional barriers and challenges feminists claim to see from their academic towers or activist microphones? Beyond the pen of the academic and the advocacy of activists, can we really hear the voices of the marginalised and the newly emergent marginalised groups? In the current volume, most of the contributors are women. A review of the table of contents of other feminist judgment projects shows the same pattern, thus confirming that this challenge is not unique to the current volume. As an editor of several books, I know first-hand the difficulty of always hitting the diversity mark when selecting chapter contributors. My call to action is for feminist scholars to recruit male feminists. For these judgments to be sustainable and have the desired impact, they must extend beyond the confines of feminist circles and networks of feminist scholars. Including men who understand, respect, and can engage with intersectional and interdisciplinary feminisms is essential. Recruiting men who can rewrite a judgment from a feminist perspective will encourage male judges to descend from their judicial towers and engage with these rewritten judgments. It will also facilitate the efforts to use these feminist judgments as teaching materials in law schools.Footnote 31 If we do not make that extra effort to add men, we risk preaching to the choir. I do however recognise that some readers may ask why we need to ‘re’centre men in our writings and spaces as women.

Recommendations

The preceding analysis has offered some provocative thoughts and reflections on how architects of international criminal law may draw on intersectionality as a guiding framework in adjudicating international criminal law cases. In this section, I provide a few high-level recommendations for judges, the registry, and researchers engaged in other feminist judgment projects.

For Judges

Achieving a more intersectional and inclusive feminist judgment calls for several changes, two of which are presented here. First, judges must acknowledge their positionality relative to the socio-cultural context and temporality of the case and the victims who appear before them. Doing so will allow them to recognise the multiplicative and additive effects of intersectionality, thereby expanding the range of reliefs they order. But how might a judge understand the wide spectrum of intersectional identities? Is there a universe of identities from which a judge can draw when they apply an intersectional lens? Are judges required to consider extenuating circumstances in the two dominant legal traditions the ICC operates from, or do they have the knowledge and skills in understanding and interpreting pluralistic legal systems?

Second, judges must accept the need for continuous judicial education and attentiveness to the role of intersectionality in determining the circumstances that lead to the cases before them. As eloquently submitted by Mudukuti in Chapter 5 of this volume, while some judges may be averse to ‘professional development’, the adoption of creative techniques such as ‘retreats’ could be used. However, the caution here is to ensure that such training about intersectionality and (un)conscious biases should not be one-offs but rather a mainstreamed and continuous programme.

The Registry

As one of the four primary organs of the ICC, the registry plays important functional and administrative roles with consequences for the judicial outcomes of cases that come before the bench. These functions include administering court services, assisting external defence and counsel for victims, organising witness and victim protection, and facilitating victim participation and reparations.Footnote 32 These are important functions that bring the court closer to victims and legal counsel. Therefore, it is critical for the staffers working in the registry to have a deep and contextual understanding of how intersectionality and the multiple axes of oppressions and exclusions affect the people they deal with.

To what extent have these rewritten judgments considered the roles of these ancillary staff in the rewriting process? How might we engage the registries, clerks, and investigating authorities accountable for understanding and applying the concepts in these rewritten judgments? These questions are not a critique of the feminist judgment projects. They lead to two recommendations.

First, there should be representational diversity in the rank and file of the registry. The data presented by Mudukuti supports several prior and ongoing advocacy efforts for the racial, geographic, and gender diversity needed in the ICC. A diverse organisation leads to optimal outcomes, and this is crucial for an organisation that deals with high-level crimes of impunity and the violation of human rights. The ICC registry must engage in conscious and intentional efforts to recruit an expert group of diverse staffers; this is not a call for some sort of affirmative action – it is simple: if they seek, they will find equally qualified racial minorities.

Second, it is essential for the ICC to reform its internal institutional/organisational norms and practices. It is not enough to recruit diverse candidates/staffers and dump them in an institutional environment that operates along toxic levels of overt and covert racism, gender discrimination, sexual harassment, and other forms of oppression. The UN and the ICC have attempted to address some of these issues, but more needs to be done.Footnote 33 In November 2022, the Institute for African Women in Law organised a public dialogue on intersectionality and decoloniality in collaboration with the ICC registry, the ICC Staff Union, the IRMCTFootnote 34 Focal Point for Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, the ICC Gender Equality Focal Point, and the ICC Office of the Prosecutor (OTP) Focal Point for Gender to address issues of discrimination in their organisations. The seminar ‘Decolonization of Workplaces: A Communal Dialogue’ was hosted virtually with the goal of addressing hard issues such as the decolonisation of workplaces, different forms of workplace harassment, and the role of staffers in breaking the walls of oppression. While more such dialogues are needed, they should be backed by actionable plans by the leaders of these organisations to hear the voices of the oppressed and address their concerns. The intersectional oppressions that staffers in the registry face must be simultaneously addressed alongside the issues victims face. Justice cannot be served to victims if staffers are constantly navigating injustice and the multiple axes of oppression within the corridors of the organisation.

For Researchers

At the outset of this chapter, in line with feminist praxis and academic reflexivity, I presented my positionality (which is by no means universal or exhaustive) to contextualise how I intended to approach the issues to be discussed in the chapter. Throughout the analyses, I was conscious of how my privilege may influence my writing, and this leads me to the following recommendations. First, exercising multiple consciousnessesFootnote 35 should be the guiding principle of all researchers and feminist scholars. Researchers must be in tune with their positionalities and how multiple layers of privilege and power may intersect and filter through the pen of their feminist judgment rewriting.Footnote 36

Second, researchers should approach these judgments with an inclusive ethic of care that is focused on the additive and multiplicative impact of intersectional identities. If we privilege gender/women over other social identity categories (race, ethnicity, religion, ability, sexuality, age, and so on), we risk reproducing the same power hierarchies. In which case, we may just be moving the stakes one notch up or down, with little to no implication for the diverse lives affected by the decisions.

Third, beyond acknowledging positionality and privilege, scholars and researchers must constantly engage in self-reflection of the approaches, strategies, and tools being used to challenge the masculine legal norms and principles in the original judgments. Doing that will be essential to meeting the FJP goal of a feminist (re)imagining while eradicating the (re)marginalisation of the people we purport to liberate through the power of the feminist pen.

Conclusion

The editors of this volume have done a commendable job of compiling the first FJP focusing on international criminal law – and the ICC specifically. They have gone to great lengths to include a diversity of authors and interdisciplinary approaches to broaching the topic of women, gender, and feminism. While the Introduction lays out the parameters of the project and the gaps they self-identify, this book promises to open new avenues for judicial and legal practitioners, researchers, diplomats, and international law policymakers. By incorporating discussions on intersectionality in this project, the book lends a voice to the countless marginalised people who are often the victims of horrific crimes yet remain largely unheard. The world cannot fully address impunity if the institutions (courts) do not represent the diversity in the world – gender, race, religion, sexuality, (dis)ability, and other identity categories. This book lays out several innovative approaches for the ICC as it continues to work towards achieving a more inclusive institution – one that respects not only the rights of minorities who work within it, but also recognises, respects, and protects the intersectional identities and lived experiences of the victims who appear before it.

7 Intersectional Approaches to Investigating and Prosecuting Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes Speech Delivered at ‘The International Criminal Court at Twenty: Reflections on the Past, Present and the Future’ Conference Marking the Twentieth Anniversary of the Entry into Force of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, The Hague, 1 July 2022

Greetings to all. My remarks today will address ‘Intersectional approaches to investigating and prosecuting sexual and gender-based crimes’. In doing so, I will focus on two areas: First: What is intersectionality? Second: Why does intersectionality matter when it comes to investigating and prosecuting sexual and gender-based crimes?

What Is Intersectionality?

The term intersectionality was coined in 1989 by African American legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw, to provide a multi-dimensional framework for discrimination law in the United States – a framework that recognises and accounts for the discrimination experienced by Black women on the basis of their race, sex, and class. In Crenshaw’s words: ‘Intersectionality is a lens through which you can see where power comes and collides, where it interlocks and intersects. It’s not simply that there’s a race problem here, a gender problem here, and a class or LBGTQ problem there.’Footnote 1

Now, when it comes to international criminal law, intersectionality serves as an analytical framework that enables the surfacing of intersecting identities, systems of privilege and oppression (for example, patriarchy or colonialism) that drive and form the backdrop to international crimes.

How Do We Link Intersectionality to Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes?

The ICC Policy Paper on sexual and gender-based crimes recognises that ‘multiple’ factors of discrimination may underlie sexual and gender-based crimes – that these crimes ‘may be motivated by underlying inequalities, as well as a “multiplicity” of other factors, inter alia, religious, political, ethnic, national, and economic reasons’.Footnote 2 The policy as such highlights underlying structural and systemic inequalities within a particular social context, which is the bedrock of an intersectional framework.

While still finding its feet in international criminal law, intersectional analysis is a well-established analytical tool in the human rights world. For example, decisions and general recommendations of the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) Committee regularly address the intersectional aspects of women’s human rights violations.

Recent reports of the Special Rapporteur on the right to health, Tlaleng Mofokeng, and the Independent Expert on protection against violence and discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender, Victor Madrigal-Borloz, have made explicit an intersectional approach in their work.

Pivoting back to international criminal law, an intersectional approach is embedded in Article 21(3) of the Rome Statute. This article requires that the application and interpretation of the law must be consistent with human rights law and ‘without any adverse distinction founded on grounds such as gender [as defined in Article 7, paragraph 3], age, race, colour, language, religion or belief, political or other opinion, national, ethnic or social origin, wealth, birth or other status’.

Article 21(3) not only builds a bridge between international criminal law and international human rights law, in which intersectionality finds deeper roots. It also links an intersectional analysis to how the law is to be applied and interpreted.

Despite these snippets of intersectionality and some promising developments in the jurisprudence, the overriding approach in international criminal law has been to focus on one form of discrimination, such as gender-based discrimination.

Gender analysis has achieved much through surfacing the underlying unequal power structures embedded in patriarchal systems that drive violence against women.

That said, gender – while a significant aspect of a person’s identity – is not the only defining aspect of an individual, and gender analysis alone is insufficient to surface the full breadth and depth of harms experienced by survivors. For this, we need to recognise and account for factors beyond gender.

Let’s turn to some practical examples that demonstrate why intersectionality matters when it comes to investigating and prosecuting sexual and gender-based crimes.

A seminal case of conflict-related sexual violence was the sexual enslavement of women and girls by the Japanese military during World War II. Estimates indicate that up to 200,000 women and girls were captured, forced, or tricked into sexual slavery. These women and girls were drawn from various Japanese colonies at that time, including Korea. We know that sexual slavery is a sexual and gender-based crime; what can intersectionality add here?

Pyong Gap Min writes that in the case of the women and girls from Korea, Japan’s colonisation of the country was a critical factor in their enslavement; a state-supported patriarchal system in Japan facilitated the establishment of military brothels, while patriarchal customs in Korea perpetuated further victimisation upon their return home. Being drawn largely from impoverished families, Korean victims were sexually enslaved due to their economic and social status.Footnote 3 This meant that when they were eventually freed from slavery, their future prospects were limited, forcing some to work as sex workers for economic survival.

Here we see how an intersectional approach allows us to broaden our vision to unpack the diverse drivers of the violations experienced. For these Korean women and girls, gender along with colonialism, ageism, patriarchy, and class coalesced to produce their unique violations that, for some, continued to permeate their lives well beyond the specific acts and temporal duration of their enslavement.

Let’s take another example: The systematic killing of 8,000 Bosnian Muslim men and the removal of Bosnian women, children, and elderly people from the Srebrenica enclave in July 1995.

Expert testimony in the Kristić case at the ICTY identified the ‘Srebrenica Syndrome’ as a specific impediment to female survivors’ recovery. One of the primary factors giving rise to the syndrome is that, with few exceptions, the majority of the men of Srebrenica were listed as missing, their fate unknown. For a Bosnian Muslim woman, having a clear marital status was paramount. A woman whose husband was missing lacked such status. On a psychological level, the women’s recovery was impeded – without knowing with certainty the fate of their men, they were unable to bury and grieve for them.

An intersectional approach reveals that this syndrome was a specific response to the lived experiences of the women – the social and cultural context that permeated these violations – such as their religion as Bosnian Muslims and their stature in a patriarchal society, where marital status mattered immensely.

The individual harms experienced by each woman were also woven into the fabric of inter-community and inter-generational harms. In the words of one former Srebrenica resident, referring to her own family: ‘With the fall of Srebrenica … from the face of the earth were wiped off three generations of men in the cruellest way possible.’Footnote 4 As the Trial Chamber stated, ‘In little over one week, thousands of lives were extinguished, irreparably rent or simply wiped from the pages of history.’Footnote 5

Analysing this context holistically demonstrates the full contours and complexities of harms experienced by the women as a result of the loss of their male family members.

A final example concerns conflict-related sexual violence in Sri Lanka experienced by ethnic Tamil men and boys, perpetrated by Singhalese state actors. Many survivors articulated feelings of shame and emasculation associated with sexual violence as a gendered crime. Many also felt degraded by the use of abusive language (ethnic slurs) by perpetrators that underscored their sense of superiority.Footnote 6 Here, gender intersected with nationalist narratives on the dominance of the Singhalese ruling class, the cultural and ethnic hierarchies that fed this dominance and fuelled sexual violence, juxtaposed against the minority status of being Tamil in Sri Lanka, and legacies of colonialism.

Let’s wrap up: In the examples discussed, we see how factors such as gender, class, social and economic status, age, culture, ethnicity, religion, and colonial status intersected to compound and hone past violations and harms at an individual and community level, while straddling the present and the future.

This is why intersectionality matters – it seeks to uncover violations with an understanding of the past, as well as the present and future realities of survivors – as multi-dimensional complex human beings – that we all are.

Thus, intersectionality can make visible other pertinent factors and structural inequalities, alongside gender, that are often disregarded or overlooked. A single-axis analysis would not have done justice to survivors’ experiences in this way.

An intersectional approach provides another tool in our armoury to deepen our contextual understandings of affected individuals, communities, and the systems of privileges and disadvantages that define them. It enables a more precise and comprehensive articulation of the nature of violations, harms, and their impacts.

This is what intersectionality can bring to the table when properly executed. Critically, it calls for intentionality in seeking to make visible what is excluded and unseen at first glance.

Intersectional analysis has the power to set us on a trajectory towards more survivor-responsive justice processes and outcomes – the very aim that has brought us all together today.

I will leave my remarks at that.

Finally, I would like to thank fellow participants in the Webinar series on ‘Intersectionality and International Criminal Law’ organised by the Emergent Justice Collective, for their insights that have informed my remarks today.

Thank you.

Footnotes

2 Introduction Feminist Judgments and the International Criminal Court

1 ‘Special Issue: Rewriting Equality’ 18(1) Canadian Journal of Women and the Law (2006); R. Hunter, C. McGlynn, and E. Rackley (eds.), Feminist Judgments: From Theory to Practice (London: Hart, 2010); See e.g. H. Douglas et al., Australian Feminist Judgments: Righting and Rewriting Law (1st ed., London: Bloomsbury, 2014); K. Sanchi, L. Berger, and B. Crawford, Feminist Judgments (Feminist Judgment Series: Rewritten Judicial Opinions) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016); M. Enright, J. McCandless, and A. O’Donoghue (eds.), Northern/Irish Feminist Judgments: Judges’ Troubles and the Gendered Politics of Identity (London: Bloomsbury, 2017); E. McDonald et al. (eds.), Feminist Judgments of Aotearoa New Zealand Te Rino, a Two-Stranded Rope (Oxford: Hart, 2017); S. Cowan, C. Kennedy, and V. E. Munro (eds.), Scottish Feminist Judgments: (Re)Creating Law from the Outside In (Oxford: Hart, 2019); C. Aparna, J. Sen, and R. Chaudhary, ‘Righting Together: An Introduction to the Indian Feminist Judgments Project’ 56(1) VRÜ Verfassung und Recht in Übersee (2023) 5–16; V. Munro, ‘Feminist Judgments Projects at the Intersection’ (2021) 29 Feminist Legal Studies 251–261 (discussing the African Feminist Judgments Project (AFJP), which is still in its early conception phase).

2 See L. Hodson and T. Lavers (eds.), Feminist Judgements in International Law (Oxford: Hart, 2019).

3 In the United States, for example, scholars have extended the project to discrete subject matter disciplines such as corporation law, employment law, immigration law, reproductive justice, tax, torts, trusts, and estates (including those not covered by the original US Project, with its focus on SCOTUS decisions). See https://law.unlv.edu/us-feminist-judgments/series-projects.

4 K. Crenshaw, ‘Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color’ (1991) 43 Stanford Law Review 1241–1299.

5 E.g. N. Watson and H. Douglas (eds.), Indigenous Legal Judgments: Bringing Indigenous Voices into Judicial Decision Making (London: Routledge, 2021); K. M. Mutcherson (ed.), Feminist Judgments: Reproductive Justice Rewritten (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020); N. Ferreira, M. Federica Moscati and S. Raj, ‘Queer Judgments Project’, available at www.queerjudgments.org/.

6 Rome Statute, Art. 5.

7 R. Grey, K. McLoughlin, and L. Chappell, ‘Gender and Judging at the International Criminal Court: Lessons from Feminist Judgment Projects’ 34(1) Leiden Journal of International Law (2021) 247–264.

8 See, for illustrative examples: L. Chappell, ‘Conflicting Institutions and the Search for Gender Justice at the International Criminal Court’ 67(1) Political Research Quarterly (2014) 183–196; L. Chappell, The Politics of Gender Justice at the International Criminal Court: Legacies and Legitimacy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016); N. Hayes, ‘Sisyphus Wept: Prosecuting Sexual Violence at the International Criminal Court’ in W. Schabas, Y. McDermott, and N. Hayes (eds.), The Ashgate Research Companion to International Criminal Law (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 7; R. Grey, ‘ICC’s First “Forced Pregnancy” Case in Historical Perspective’ 15(4) Journal of International Criminal Justice (2017) 905–930; R. Grey, Prosecuting Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes at the International Criminal Court (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019); V. Oosterveld, ‘The ICC Policy Paper on Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes: A Crucial Step for International Criminal Law’ 24(3) William & Mary Journal of Women and the Law (2018) 1–15; K. O’Smith, ‘Prosecutor v Lubanga: How the ICC Failed the Women and Girls of the Congo’ 54(2) Howard Law Journal (2010–2011) 467–504; S. SáCouto and K. Cleary, ‘The Importance of Effective Investigation of Sexual Violence and Gender-Based Crimes at the International Criminal Court’ 17(2) American University Journal of Gender, Social Policy and Law (2009) 337–359.

9 R. Hunter, C. McGlynn, and E. Rackley (eds.), Feminist Judgments: From Theory to Practice (Oxford: Hart, 2010).

10 L. Hodson and T. Lavers (eds.), Feminist Judgements in International Law (Oxford: Hart, 2019).

11 Although no previous work has applied the feminist judgment to the ICC on the scale of this book, the method has been applied to certain discrete ICC judgments. See Y. Brunger, E. Irving, and D. Sankey, ‘The Prosecutor v Thomas Lubanga Dyilo’ in L. Hodson and T. Lavers (eds.), Feminist Judgements in International Law (Oxford: Hart, 2019) 409–444; see also K. Gooding, ‘How Can the Methodology of Feminist Judgment Writing Improve Gender Sensitivity in International Criminal Law’ 5 LSE Law Review (2020) 115–152 for a thoughtful feminist rewriting of Ongwen.

12 An example from our own jurisdiction is Justice Bell’s dissent in the 2012 decision in PGA v. The Queen. She concluded that the historic common law immunity for marital rape was still in force at the time of the offending, but also expressed her view that this doctrine was ‘demeaning to women’. PGA v. The Queen, 245 CLR 355 per Bell J § 246.

13 If the situation was referred to the ICC Prosecutor by a state party or the UN Security Council, the Prosecutor can open an investigation provided that the statutory criteria of jurisdiction, admissibility, and interests of justice are satisfied. But if the Prosecutor has initiated proceedings proprio motu (on his/her own motion), authorisation from the Pre-Trial Chamber is needed before the investigation can proceed. See Rome Statute, Arts. 13, 15, and 53.

14 Burundi, Central African Republic, Côte d’Ivoire, Democratic Republic of Congo, Gabon, Guinea, Kenya, Libya, Mali, Nigeria, Sudan, and Uganda.

15 Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Iraq, Myanmar, Palestine, the Philippines, and the Republic of Korea.

16 Georgia and Ukraine.

17 Bolivia, Columbia, Honduras, and Venezuela.

18 Those from Israel as well as from Palestine in the Palestine situation, and the matter of Comoran-, Greek-, and Cambodian-registered ships; those from the United Kingdom in the Iraq/UK situation; and those from the United States of America in Afghanistan.

19 Y. Dutton and M Sterio, ‘The War in Ukraine and the Legitimacy of the International Criminal Court’, Just Security, 20 August 2022, available at www.justsecurity.org/82889/the-war-in-ukraine-and-the-legitimacy-of-the-international-criminal-court/; A. Mitrovica, ‘An ICC Warrant against Putin Is Good – and Hypocritical’, Al Jazeera, 20 March 2023, available at www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2023/3/20/an-icc-warrant-against-putin-is-good-its-also; N. Hedayat, ‘The Response to Ukraine Is Laudable. But as a British Afghan, I’m a Little Jealous’, The Guardian, 19 March 2022, available at www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/mar/19/response-ukraine-laudable-british-afghan-jealous-kabul-crisis; N. Farrelly and A. Simpson, ‘Why Has the West Given Billions in Military Aid to Ukraine, but Virtually Ignored Myanmar?’, The Conversation, 30 January 2023, available at https://theconversation.com/why-has-the-west-given-billions-in-military-aid-to-ukraine-but-virtually-ignored-myanmar-198297; Z. Abuza, ‘On Ukraine, the World Acts; on Myanmar, It Waits’, Radio Free Asia, 3 March 2022, available at www.rfa.org/english/commentaries/myanmar-ukraine-03032022134344.html; M. O’Brien, ‘Symposium on Myanmar and International Indifference: The Sloe Turning Wheels of Justice – Even for Genocide’, Opinio Juris, 20 August 2022, available at https://opiniojuris.org/2022/08/30/symposium-on-myanmar-and-international-indifference-the-slow-turning-wheels-of-justice-even-for-genocide/.

20 E.g. P. V. Sellers, ‘Gender Strategy Is Not Luxury for International Courts’ 17(2) American University Journal of Gender, Social Policy & the Law (2009) 327–335; I. Rosenthal, V. Oosterveld, and S. SáCouto, ‘What Is “Gender” in International Criminal Law?’ in Gender and International Criminal Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2022) 11; J. Gardam, ‘A New Frontline for Feminism and International Humanitarian Law’ in M. Davies and V. Munro (eds.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Feminist Legal Theory (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 217; M. Jarvis, ‘Overview: The Challenge of Accountability for Conflict-Related Sexual Violence Crimes’ in S. Brammertz and M. Jarvis (eds.), Prosecuting Conflict-Related Sexual Violence at the ICTY (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016) 1, 10–14.

21 O. Khair, D. Kayas, and A. Hassan, A Chance to Breathe: A Photography Book by Rohingya Refugees (Fortify Rights, 2022), available at www.fortifyrights.org/a-chance-to-breathe/.

22 Shorty Social Goods Award, 2020 in the ‘Best Work for Immigration and Refugees’ category. Fortify Rights Annual Report 2021/22 (2022), available at www.fortifyrights.org/downloads/Fortify%20Rights%20Annual%20Report%202021.pdf.

23 K. Crenshaw, ‘Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics’ 1 University of Chicago Law Forum (1989) 139–167.

24 See e.g. B. R. Parry and E. Gordon, ‘The Shadow Pandemic: Inequitable Gendered Impacts of COVID-19 in South Africa’ 28(2) Gender, Work & Organization (2021) 795–806; S. Germain and A. Yong (eds.), Beyond the Virus: Multidisciplinary and International Perspectives on Inequities Raised by COVID-19 (Bristol: Bristol University Press, 2023); M. Graham, V. Weale, K. Lambert, N. Kinsman, R. Stuckey, and J. Oakman, ‘Working at Home’ 63(11) Journal of Occupational and Environmental Medicine (2021) 938–943.

26 An approach which, when utilised by then Judge Navanethem Pillay, saw the first convictions for rape in the case of the Prosecutor v. Jean Paul Akayesu, ICTR-96-4-T, 2 September 1998.

27 We acknowledge the important contribution of Immi Tallgren, who offered an ‘outside-the-box’ section in her first reflection draft, and the editorial team found it so engaging that we asked all reflection writers to follow Tallgren’s lead in offering their own outside-the-box reflections.

28 Rome Statute, Art. 69(3).

29 ICC Rules of Procedure and Evidence, Rule 103.

30 E.g. R. Hunter, ‘An Account of Feminist Judging’ in R. Hunter, C. McGlynn, and E. Rackley (eds.), Feminist Judgments: From Theory to Practice (Oxford: Hart, 2010).

31 H. Charlesworth and C. Chinkin, The Boundaries of International Law: A Feminist Analysis (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000).

3 Do Feminists Believe in Fairy Tales? The Case for Bringing the Feminist Judgment Methodology to the International Criminal CourtFootnote *

* This chapter draws on some of the arguments presented in an earlier article jointly authored by members of the editorial team for this book: R. Grey, K. McLoughlin, and L. Chappell, ‘Gender and Judging at the International Criminal Court: Lessons from “Feminist Judgment Projects”’ 34(1) Leiden Journal of International Law (2021) 247–264. Any errors or omissions remain my own.

1 See R. Dworkin, Taking Rights Seriously (London: Duckworth, 1977).

2 I note that, in a recent piece, Rackley has somewhat disavowed the little mermaid framing (i.e. the idea that, like the little mermaid, the woman judge was an outsider and, to fit in, she too had to give up what made her distinctive). Indeed, at least part of Rackley’s revision is the benefit of observing more real-life women judges (in her case, especially the feminist leadership of Brenda Hale in the United Kingdom). Although Rackley has moved on from this particular framing of the little mermaid, we think it is nonetheless useful to consider what it tells us about the evolving imagery of the woman judge – the apparent novelty of women’s access means that evolving understandings should not surprise us. See E. Rackley, ‘A Short History of Judicial Diversity’ 76(1) Current Legal Problems (2023) 1–32.

3 Together with Rosemary Hunter, Clare McGlynn and Erika Rackley edited what we now describe as the ‘English feminist judgment project’. Both have written extensively about gender and judging, and feminist approaches to legal adjudication in more domestic contexts. R. Hunter, C. McGlynn, and E. Rackley (eds.), Feminist Judgments: From Theory to Practice (London: Hart, 2010).

4 C. McGlynn, The Woman Lawyer: Making the Difference (London: Butterworths, 1998) 171.

5 See Lord Reid, ‘The Judge as Law Maker’ 12 Journal of the Society of Public Teachers of Law (1972) 22–29.

7 I note that feminist legal theory was not the first to challenge the demarcation between the judge and the law – the key point of departure between feminist legal theory and other critical theories is that it aims to ‘show that the supposed gender-blind approach to legal scholarship is problematic, since the claim of neutrality is often a cover-story for male orientated and discriminatory legal knowledge and policy’. See M. Davies (ed.), Asking the Law Question (3rd ed., Sydney: Lawbook Company, 2008) 213.

8 H. Barnett, Sourcebook on Feminist Jurisprudence (London: Cavendish, 1996) 301.

9 A. Scales, ‘The Emergence of Feminist Jurisprudence: An Essay’ 95(7) Yale Law Journal (1986) 1373–1403.

10 Davies, supra Footnote note 7, at 41.

11 C. A. MacKinnon, ‘Feminism, Marxism, Method, and the State: Toward Feminist Jurisprudence’ 8(4) Signs (1983) 635–658, at 636

12 See K. McLoughlin, Law, Women Judges and the Gender Order: Lessons from the High Court of Australia (Abingdon: Routledge, 2022), for a summary of some of the key shifts in conceptualising ‘difference’, particularly in canvassing how certain constructions of difference essentialised women, and how in many instances the search for women’s purported different judicial voice was elusive.

13 The literature is vast, but I note some feminist theorists, responding at least in part to Carol Gilligan’s ‘ethic of care’, hypothesised that women judges would be the panacea to the law’s gender blindness. See e.g. C. Gilligan, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982); C. Menkel-Meadow, ‘Portia in a Different Voice: Speculations on a Women’s Lawyering Process’ 1 Berkeley Women’s Law Journal (1985) 39–63; S. Sherry, ‘The Gender of Judges’ 4 Law and Inequality (1986) 159–169. This is not to suggest that all feminists have subscribed to such a viewpoint, even contemporaneously. For example, for a critique of the essentialism embedded in feminist legal theory more broadly, see A. P. Harris, ‘Race and Essentialism in Feminist Legal Theory’ 42(3) Stanford Law Review (1990) 581–616.

14 See e.g. S. J. Kenney, Gender and Justice: Why Women in the Judiciary Really Matter (New York: Routledge, 2013); R. Hunter, ‘Can Feminist Judges Make a Difference?’ 15(1–2) International Journal of the Legal Profession (2008) 7–36.

15 Scales, supra Footnote note 9.

16 M. Ashley, ‘The first fairytales were feminist critiques of patriarchy. We need to revive their legacy’, The Guardian, 11 November 2019, available at www.theguardian.com/books/2019/nov/11/the-first-fairytales-were-feminist-critiques-of-patriarchy-we-need-to-revive-their-legacy; A. Neikirk, ‘…Happily Ever After (Or What Fairytales Teach Girls about Being Women)’ 8 Hohonu: A Journal of Academic Writing (2009) 38–42.

17 In this volume, we have taken an expansive view of what ‘counts’ as feminist judging. The editors were very much guided by Hunter’s seven-point checklist; although accepting that feminism is not monolithic, we were also guided by our contributors in how they sought to frame their reimagined judgments as feminist (see R. Hunter, ‘An Account of Feminist Judging’ in R. Hunter, C. McGlynn, and E. Rackley (eds.), Feminist Judgments: From Theory to Practice (Oxford: Hart, 2010), 35; for a further discussion of the feminist judgment methodology see Chapter 2 in this book).

18 For a definition of ‘gender justice’, see Nancy Fraser’s ‘trivalent model’ in N. Fraser, Scales of Justice: Reimaging Political Space in a Globalizing World (New York: Colombia University Press, 2009), as discussed in L. Chappell, The Politics of Gender Justice at the International Criminal Court (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016).

19 E. Rackley, ‘Representations of the (Woman) Judge: Hercules, the Little Mermaid, and the Vain and Naked Emperor’ 22(4) Legal Studies (2002) 602–624, at 613.

21 Footnote Ibid, at 614.

22 Dworkin, supra Footnote note 1, at 105.

23 See e.g. Kenney, supra Footnote note 14; Hunter, supra Footnote note 14.

24 See e.g., H. Douglas et al., Australian Feminist Judgments: Righting and Rewriting Law (1st ed., London: Bloomsbury, 2014); K. Stanchi, L. Berger, and B. Crawford, Feminist Judgments (Feminist Judgment Series: Rewritten Judicial Opinions) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016); M. Enright, J. McCandless, and A. O’Donoghue (eds.), Northern/Irish Feminist Judgments: Judges’ Troubles and the Gendered Politics of Identity (London: Bloomsbury, 2017); E. McDonald et al. (eds.), Feminist Judgments of Aotearoa New Zealand Te Rino, a Two-Stranded Rope (Oxford: Hart, 2017); S. Cowan, C. Kennedy, and V. E. Munro (eds.), Scottish Feminist Judgments: (Re)Creating Law from the Outside In (Oxford: Hart, 2019); C. Aparna, J. Sen, and R. Chaudhary, ‘Righting Together: An Introduction to the Indian Feminist Judgments Project’ 56(1) VRÜ Verfassung und Recht in Übersee (2023) 5–16; V. Munro, ‘Feminist Judgments Projects at the Intersection’ 29 Feminist Legal Studies (2021) 251–261 (discussing the African Feminist Judgments Project (AFJP), which is still in its early conception phase).

25 L. Berger, K. Stanchi, and B. Crawford, ‘Learning from Feminist Judgments: Lessons in Language and Advocacy’ 98 Texas Law Review Online (2019) 40–70, at 44.

26 E. Rackley, ‘Why Feminist Legal Scholars Should Write Judgments: Reflections on the Feminist Judgments Project in England and Wales’ 24(2) Canadian Journal of Women and Law (2012) 389–413, at 397.

27 Hunter, supra Footnote note 17, at 5.

28 Footnote Ibid, at 398 (footnotes omitted).

29 M. Davies, ‘The Law Becomes Us: Rediscovering Judgment, Review of Feminist Judgments: From Theory to Practice’ 20(2) Feminist Legal Studies (2012) 167–181, at 173.

31 Sally Brown is an Australian judge. She was appointed Chief Magistrate of Victoria in 1990, and then a judge of the Family Court of Australia in 1993.

32 S. Brown, ‘Foreword’ in H. Douglas et al. (eds.), Australian Feminist Judgments: Righting and Rewriting Law (Oxford: Hart, 2014).

33 Brenda Hale served as president of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom from 2017 until her retirement in 2020.

34 B. Hale, ‘Foreword’ in R. Hunter, C. McGlynn, and E. Rackley (eds.), Feminist Judgments: From Theory to Practice (Oxford: Hart, 2010) v, vi.

37 L. Chappell, ‘“Newness”, “Oldness”, “Nestedness” and Gender Justice Outcomes’ 10(4) Politics & Gender (2014) 572–594; L. Chappell and R. Grey, ‘Gender Just Judging in International Criminal Courts: New Directions for Research’ in S. Rimmer and K. Ogg (eds.), Research Handbook on Feminist Engagement with International Law (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2019) 213–239.

38 H. Charlesworth and C. Chinkin, The Boundaries of International Law: A Feminist Analysis (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000); Chappell, supra Footnote note 18.

39 K. D. Askin, ‘Prosecuting Wartime Rape and Other Gender Related Crimes: Extraordinary Advances, Enduring Obstacles’ 21 Berkeley Journal of International Law (2003) 288–349, at 331–332.

40 P. Viseur Sellers, ‘Gender Strategy Is Not Luxury for International Courts’ 17(2) American University Journal of Gender, Social Policy & the Law (2009) 301–326, at 312.

41 See R. Grey, K. McLoughlin, and L. Chappell, ‘Gender and Judging at the International Criminal Court: Lessons from “Feminist Judgment Projects”’ 34(1) Leiden Journal of International Law (2021) 247–264, at 253.

42 Margaret McMurdo is an Australian Judge who served as the President of Queensland Court of Appeal from 1998 until her retirement in 2017.

43 M. McMurdo, ‘Address at the Launch of the Book Australian Feminist Judgments: Writing and Re-writing Law, Speech, 2 December 2014 (Banco Court, Brisbane: University of Queensland), available at https://law.uq.edu.au/files/19693/AFJP-booklaunch-address-mcmurdo021214.pdf.

44 See Grey et al., supra Footnote note 41, at 264.

45 Munro, supra Footnote note 24, at 255.

47 In this collection, for example, see Rigney’s abolitionist approach, McKay’s imposition of a non-carceral sentence, and Zarsky and Irving’s inclusion of an ‘additional comment’. These approaches all pushed the boundaries in terms of what is legally plausible under the Rome Statute.

48 See I. Watson, ‘Response to Kartinyeri v Commonwealth of Australia (1998) 195 CLR H’ in H. Douglas et al. (eds.), Australian Feminist Judgments: Righting and Rewriting Law (1st ed., London: Bloomsbury, 2014).

49 N. Watson and H. Douglas, Indigenous Legal Judgments: Bringing Indigenous Voices into Judicial Decision Making (1st ed., London: Routledge, 2022).

50 D. Otto, ‘Feminist Judging in Action: Reflecting on the Feminist Judgments in International Law Project’ 28(2) Feminist Legal Studies (2020) 445–446 (citations omitted).

52 C. Smart, Feminism and the Power of Law (New York: Routledge, 1990); M. J. Mossman, ‘Feminism and Legal Method: The Difference It Makes’ 3 Wisconsin Women’s Law Journal (1987) 147–168.

53 C. Smart, ‘Reflection’ 20 Feminist Legal Studies (2012) 161–165, at 162.

54 Footnote Ibid, at 162–163.

55 Rackley, supra Footnote note 26, at 408.

57 M. Matsuda, ‘When the First Quail Calls: Multiple Consciousness as Jurisprudential Method’ 11(1) Women’s Rights Law Reporter (1998) 7–10, at 8.

58 See for example A. Facio, ‘All Roads Lead to Rome, but Some Are Bumpier than Others’ in S. Pickering and C. Lambert (eds.), Global Issues, Women and Justice (Sydney: Federation Press, 2004) 308–334; B. Schiff, Building the International Criminal Court (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).

59 The editors of this volume developed this argument in Grey et al., supra Footnote note 41, at 250.

61 Trial Judgment, Ongwen (ICC-02/04-01/15-1762-Red), Trial Chamber IX, 4 February 2021.

62 Trial Judgment, Ntaganda (ICC-01/04-02/06), Trial Chamber VI, 8 July 2019.

63 L. Chappell, ‘The Gender Injustice Cascade: “Transformative” Reparations for Victims of Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes in the Lubanga Case at the International Criminal Court’ 21(9) International Journal of Human Rights (2017) 1223–1242.

64 L. Chappell, R. Grey, and E. Walker, ‘The Gender Justice Shadow of Complementarity’ 7(3) International Journal of Transitional Justice 455–475.

65 R. Grey, Prosecuting Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes at the International Criminal Court (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019).

66 ‘At each of these stages of proceedings, a decreasing proportion of gender-based crimes has been confirmed: just under 93 per cent at the arrest warrant/summons to appear stage; 74 per cent at the confirmation stage; and zero per cent at the end of the trial … At every stage of proceedings, the OTP has been less successful in establishing charges of gender-based crimes than other crimes.’ Grey, supra Footnote note 63, at 265.

67 See e.g. H. Charlesworth, C. Chinkin, and S. Wright, ‘Feminist Approaches to International Law’ 85 American Journal of International Law (1991) 613–645; Charlesworth and Chinkin, supra Footnote note 38; R. Copelon, ‘Surfacing Gender: Re-engraving Crimes against Women in Humanitarian Law’ 5 Hastings Women’ s Law Journal (1994) 243–265; Chappell, supra Footnote note 18; R. Grey and L. Chappell, ‘Prosecuting Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes in the International Criminal Court: Inching towards Gender Justice’ in S. Mouthaan and O. Jurasz (eds.), Gender and War: International and Transitional Justice Perspectives (Cambridge: Intersentia, 2019) 209–234.

68 F. Ní Aoláin, D. F. Haynes, and N. Cahn, On the Frontlines: Gender, War, and the Post-Conflict Process (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

69 Charlesworth and Chinkin, supra Footnote note 38; Chappell, supra Footnote note 18.

70 N. Grossman, ‘Sex on the Bench: Do Women Judges Matter to the Legitimacy of International Courts?’ 12(2) ChicagoUnbound (2012) 647–684.

71 See L. Hodson and T. Lavers (eds.), Feminist Judgments in International Law (Oxford: Hart, 2019). Note that this important contribution includes just one ICC case. See also K. Gooding, ‘How Can the Methodology of Feminist Judgment Writing Improve Gender Sensitivity in International Criminal Law’ 5 LSE Law Review 115–152 for a thoughtful feminist rewriting of Ongwen prior to our ICC Feminist Judgment Project.

72 L. Chappell, ‘Conflicting Institutions and the Search for Gender Justice at the International Criminal Court’ 67(1) Political Research Quarterly (2014) 183–196; N. Hayes, ‘Sisyphus Wept: Prosecuting Sexual Violence at the International Criminal Court’ in W. Schabas, Y. McDermott, and N. Hayes (eds.), The Ashgate Research Companion to International Criminal Law (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 7; Grey and Chappell, supra Footnote note 67.

73 Office of the Prosecutor, ‘Policy Paper on Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes’, June 2014, available at https://www.icc-cpi.int/sites/default/files/iccdocs/otp/OTP-Policy-Paper-on-Sexual-and-Gender-Based-Crimes--June-2014.pdf; Office of the Prosecutor, ‘Policy on Gender-Based Crimes’, December 2023, https://www.icc-cpi.int/sites/default/files/2023-12/2023-policy-gender-en-web.pdf.

74 Although the judiciary itself may not have issued a practice manual or taken further collective action, I note the effective training programmes carried out by organisations such as African Legal Aid and Women’s Initiatives for Gender Justice which have worked to incorporate gender expertise within the chambers. See e.g. African Legal Aid, ‘Gender Mentoring Training Programme for Judges of International Criminal Courts’, November 2022, available at www.africalegalaid.com/gender-mentoring-training-programme-for-judges-of-international-criminal-courts; WIGJ, ‘Gender Training’, 2004–2007, available at https://4genderjustice.org/home/gender-training.

75 Hunter, supra Footnote note 17; K. McLoughlin, ‘A Particular Disappointment? Judging Women and the High Court of Australia’ 23(3) Feminist Legal Studies (2015) 273–294.

76 The Rome Statute UN General Assembly, Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (last amended 2010), 17 July 1998, ISBN 92-9227-227-6, Art. 36(8)(b).

77 The Coalition for the ICC Elections Team, ‘Gender Representation on the ICC Bench’ (2020), available at https://coalitionfortheicc.org/sites/default/files/cicc_documents/CICC%20Elections%20Team%20statement%20gender%20representation.pdf.

78 ICC, ‘Judges’ (2022), available at www.icc-cpi.int/sites/default/files/Publications/JudgesENG.pdf.

79 Assembly of States Parties, ‘Nominations for Judges of the International Criminal Court’, 23 March 2023, available at https://asp.icc-cpi.int/elections/judges/2023/Nominations.

81 ICC, ‘Judges’ (2023), available at www.icc-cpi.int/sites/default/files/Publications/JudgesENG.pdf.

82 S. Kenney, ‘New Research on Gendered Political Institutions’ 49(2) Political Research Quarterly (1996) 445–466, at 456

83 See McLoughlin, supra Footnote note 12, for an examination of the way in which the institutional features of a given court might be conceptualised as reflecting a particular ‘gender regime’ which in turn shapes the institutional and individual contributions of judges.

84 ICC, supra Footnote note 83.

85 Importantly, I note that regional representation is also significant in achieving gender justice due to the insights gained from regional diversity into intersectional power structures which exacerbate and underlie atrocity crimes.

86 ICC, ‘International Criminal Court Marks International Women’s Day’ (8 March 2023), available at www.icc-cpi.int/news/international-criminal-court-marks-international-womens-day-1.

87 As we argued: When interpreting decisions, there is scope for judges to think about the gendered consequences of a particular interpretation: will it have a discriminatory effect in practice, and if so, can this be avoided? Such questions give effect to Article 21(3) of the Rome Statute, which requires the Court to interpret and apply the law without adverse distinction on certain grounds, including gender. By thinking through how different interpretations of law might result in gender discrimination, judges can in substance engage in feminist judging, even if they choose not to describe their method in such terms. See Grey et al., supra Footnote note 41, at 268.

88 Footnote Ibid, at 250; B. Bedont and K. Hall-Martinez, ‘Ending Impunity for Gender Crimes under the International Criminal Court’ 6 Brown Journal of World Affairs (1999) 65–85; S. Mouthaan, ‘The Prosecution of Gender-Based Crimes at the ICC: Challenges and Opportunities’ 11(4) International Criminal Law Review (2011) 775–802.

89 Grey et al., supra Footnote note 41, at 252.

90 Footnote Ibid, at 250; M. Glasius, The International Criminal Court: A Global Civil Society Achievement (London: Routledge, 2006), 77–93; L. Chappell, ‘Women’s Rights and Religious Opposition: The Politics of Gender at the International Criminal Court’ in Y. Abu-Laban (ed.), Gendering the Nation-State: Canadian and Comparative Perspectives (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2009) 139.

91 The Rome Statute UN General Assembly, supra Footnote note 76, Arts. 7(1)(g), 7(1)(h), 8(2)(b)(xxii), 8(2)(e)(vi).

92 Footnote Ibid, Arts. 54(1)(b), 68(1), 68(2).

93 Footnote Ibid, Art. 21(3)

94 Footnote Ibid, Art. 36(8)(b).

95 Footnote Ibid, Art. 42(9).

96 Footnote Ibid, Art. 43(6).

4 ‘The Richness of the Jurisprudence That Is Absent’ Imagining a Different Legal Past

1 T. Dolgopol, ‘The Tokyo Women’s Tribunal’ in A. Byrnes and G. Simm (eds.), Peoples’ Tribunals and International Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018) 84–106.

2 Chapter 2, Introduction, in this book.

3 N. Watson, ‘In the Matter of Djaparri (Re Tuckiar)’ in H. Douglas, R. Hunter, T. Luker, and F. Bartlett (eds.), Australian Feminist Judgments (Oxford: Hart, 2014) 442–451; N. Watson and T. Broderick, ‘Dempsey v Rigg [1914] St R Qd 245’ in N. Watson and H. Douglas (eds.), Indigenous Legal Judgments (Abingdon: Routledge, 2021) 189–205.

4 See the discussion of Hunter’s checklist in the Introduction to this book (Chapter 2).

5 The Naganda case is one of the ICC cases from the situation in the Democratic Republic of Congo. For background on the case, see discussion of the DRC in the Introduction to this book (Chapter 2).

6 R. Grey, Prosecuting Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes at the International Criminal Court (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019) 142.

7 P. Viseur Sellers, ‘Ntaganda: Re-alignment of a Paradigm’ in F. Pocar (ed.), The Additional Protocols 40 Years Later (Sanremo: International Institute of Humanitarian Law, 2018) 116–136; Grey, supra Footnote note 6, at 274–278.

8 See C. Laverty and D. de Vos, ‘“Ntaganda” in Colombia: Intra-Party Reproductive Violence at the Colombian Constitutional Court’, Opinio Juris, 25 February 2020, available at http://opiniojuris.org/2020/02/25/ntaganda-in-colombia-intra-party-reproductive-violence-at-the-colombian-constitutional-court/.

9 Judgment, The Prosecutors and the Peoples of the Asia-Pacific Region v. Hirohito Emperor Showa et al., Women’s International War Crimes Tribunal for the Trial of Japan’s Military Sexual Slavery, 4 December 2001, § 929.

10 Gopalan, Chapter 7 in this book.

11 See M. J. Bazyler and F. M. Tuerkheimer, Forgotten Trials of the Holocaust (New York: New York University Press: 2014) 129–157.

12 Known officially as United States of America v. Karl Brandt et al. and United States of America v. Josef Altstötter et al., both prosecuted between 1946 and 1947 by an American military tribunal in Nuremberg under Control Council Law 10.

13 See ‘International Military Tribunal: Judgment and Sentence, October 1, 1946’ 41(1) American Journal of International Law (1947) 172–333, at 330.

14 See K. D. Askin, ‘Prosecuting Wartime Rape and Other Gender-Related Crimes under International Law: Extraordinary Advances, Enduring Obstacles’ 21(2) Berkeley Journal of International Law (2003) 288–349, at 333–341.

15 This 2005 study by the ICRC is based on an extensive analysis of state practice in relation to the laws of war. Rule 94 recognises that under customary international law, slavery and the slave trade in all their forms are prohibited. See J.-M. Henckaerts and L. Doswald-Beck, International Committee of the Red Cross: Customary International Humanitarian Law (Vol. I) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 327.

16 Third Amended Indictment, Radovan Stanković (IT-96-23/2-I), ICTY, 8 December 2003, ‘The Charges’, § 3.

17 K. Vigneswaran, ‘Annex B: Charges and Outcomes in ICTY Cases Involving Sexual Violence’ in S. Brammertz and M. Jarvis (eds.), Prosecuting Conflict-Related Sexual Violence at the ICTY (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016) 429–481, at 476.

18 Protocol Additional to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, and relating to the Protection of Victims of Non-International Armed Conflicts (Protocol II), 8 June 1977 (entered into force 7 December 1978), Art. 4(2)(f).

19 The Katanga and Chui case is one of the ICC cases from the situation in the Democratic Republic of Congo. For background on the case, see discussion of the DRC in the Introduction, in this book (Chapter 2).

20 The Ongwen case is the ICC’s only case on public record from the situation in Uganda. For background on the case, see discussion of Uganda in the Introduction in this book (Chapter 2).

21 League of Nations, Convention to Suppress the Slave Trade and Slavery, 60 LNTS 253, 25 September 1926 (entered into force 9 March 1927), Art. 1(2); Supplementary Convention on the Abolition of Slavery, the Slave Trade, and Institutions and Practices Similar to Slavery, 266 UNS 3, 7 September 1956 (entered into force 30 April 1957), Art. 7(c).

22 P. Viseur Sellers, ‘Wartime Female Slavery: Enslavement?’ 44 Cornell International Law Journal (2011) 115–142; P. Viseur Sellers and J. Getgen Kestenbaum, ‘The International Crimes of Slavery and the Slave Trade: A Feminist Critique’ in I. Rosenthal, V. Oosterveld, and S. SáCouto (eds.), Gender and International Criminal Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2022) 157–186.

5 From Feminist Reimaginings to the Field Reflections from an International Criminal Lawyer

1 A. Davis, Freedom Is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement (Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2016) no page numbers.

2 ICC-ASP/1/Res. 10, 9 September 2002.

6 Intersectionality, Feminist Judgments, and the International Criminal Court Whose Feminist Is It Anyway?

1 See C. Adichie, ‘We Should All Be Feminists’, TEDTalk (TEDxEuston, December 2012) available at www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_ngozi_adichie_we_should_all_be_feminists?language=en.

2 On feminist reflexivity in research, see generally D. Macbeth, ‘On “Reflexivity” in Qualitative Research: Two Readings, and a Third’ 7(1) Qualitative Inquiry (2001) 35–68; K. England, ‘Getting Personal: Reflexivity, Positionality, and Feminist Research’ 46 The Professional Geographer (1994) 80–89.

3 R. Delgado and J. Stefancic, ‘Introduction’ in R. Delgado and J. Stefancic (eds.), Critical Race Theory: The Cutting Edge (2nd ed., Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2000) xv–xix.

4 A. Harris, ‘Race and Essentialism in Feminist Legal Theory’ 42 Stanford Law Review (1989) 581–616; K. Crenshaw, ‘Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics’ 1 University of Chicago Law Forum (1989) 139–167; P. Williams, The Alchemy of Race and Rights: Diary of a Law Professor (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991); A. Wing, ‘International Human Rights and Black Women: Justice or Just Us?’ in J. Levitt (ed.), Black Women and International Law: Deliberate Interactions, Movements and Actions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015) 37–60; K. Crenshaw, ‘Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color’ 43 Stanford Law Review (1991) 1241–1299; J. Dawuni (ed.), Intersectionality and Women’s Access to Justice in Africa (London: Rowman and Littlefield, 2022).

5 Note that I use the term ‘minoritised’ and not minority because in some cases, the group suffering oppression are not minorities in the numeric or quantitative sense. For example, women make up at least 50 per cent of the world’s population but they are often treated as minorities within power hierarchies. In South Africa, black people make up a majority of the national population, yet the lingering effects of apartheid cause them to be treated as minorities within the chambers of power.

6 On gender in international law, see generally H. Charlesworth and C. Chinkin, The Boundaries of International Law: A Feminist Analysis (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000). For a discussion of gender at the international courts specifically, see L. Chappell, ‘Women, Gender and International Institutions: Exploring New Opportunities at the International Criminal Court’ 22(1) Policy and Society (2003) 3–25; R. Grey, K. McLoughlin, and L. Chappell, ‘Gender and Judging at the International Criminal Court: Lessons from Feminist Judgments Projects’ 34 Leiden Journal of International Law (2021) 247–264.

7 The pedagogical response to the imperial and racist nature of international law is captured in the genre of scholarship referred to as the Third World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL). See generally O. C. Okafor, ‘Critical Third World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL): Theory, Methodology, or Both?’ 10 International Community Law Review (2008) 371–378; M. Mutua, ‘What Is TWAIL?’ 94 American Society of International Law Proceedings (2000) 31–39; J. Gathii, ‘Alternative and Critical: The Contribution of Research and Scholarship on Developing Countries to International Legal Theory’ 41 Harvard International Law Journal (2000) 263–275; K. Mickelson, ‘Rhetoric and Rage: Third World Voices in International Legal Discourse’ 16 Wisconsin International Law Journal (1998) 353–419.

8 On feminist academic praxis and positionality, see supra Footnote note 2.

9 For a deeper exploration of the roots of intersectionality, see generally Crenshaw, ‘Demarginalizing’, supra Footnote note 4; P. H. Collins, ‘Black Feminist Thought in the Matrix of Domination’ in C. C. Lemert (ed.), Social Theory: The Multicultural and Classic Readings (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1993) 615–625; P. H. Collins, Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment (Abingdon: Routledge, 2000); P. H. Collins and S. Bilge, Intersectionality: Key Concepts (Cambridge: Polity, 2016); J. C. Nash, ‘Re-thinking Intersectionality’ 89 Feminist Review (2008) 1–15.

10 See the seminal critical race formulation of intersectionality theory, Crenshaw, ‘Demarginalizing’, supra Footnote note 4.

11 See generally Footnote notes 4, Footnote 9, and Footnote 10.

12 See Harris, supra Footnote note 4; S. J. Kenney, ‘Thinking about Gender and Judging’ 15(1) International Journal of the Legal Profession (2008) 87–110.

13 On the impact of language on proceedings at the ICC, see L. Swigart, ‘The Impacts of English-Language Hegemony on the ICC’ in F. Jeßberger, L. Steinl, and K. Mehta (eds.), International Criminal Law – A Counter-Hegemonic Project? (The Hague: T. M. C. Asser Press, 2022) 239–263; for a discussion of how religious and ethnic diversity can help with the adjudication of cases (but not necessarily as grounds for appointing judges), see the arguments by S. B. Balungi and G. L. Dossan, ‘Ethnicity, Religion and Diversity at the International Criminal Court: Is More Too Much?’ in F. Baetens (ed.), Identity and Diversity on the International Bench (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020) 446–461.

14 Quoted in N. Grossman, ‘Julia Sebutinde: An Unbreakable Cloth’ in J. Dawuni and A. Kuenyehia (eds.), International Courts and the African Woman Judge: Unveiled Narratives (London: Routledge, 2018) 37–56, at 43.

15 For a discussion of the distinctions between categorical, inter-categorical, and intra-categorical intersectionality, see L. McCall, ‘The Complexity of Intersectionality’ 30(3) Signs (2005) 1771–1800.

16 For a discussion on postcolonial and decolonial feminism, see generally C. T. Mohanty, ‘Transnational Feminist Crossings: On Neoliberalism and Radical Critique’ 38(4) Signs (2013) 967–991; C. T. Mohanty, A. Russo, and L. Torres (eds.), Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991); E. D. Velez, ‘Decolonial Feminism at the Intersection: A Critical Reflection on the Relationship between Decolonial Feminism and Intersectionality’ 33(3) Journal of Speculative Philosophy (2019) 390–406; A. Carastathis, ‘Intersectionality and Decolonial Feminism’ in Intersectionality: Origins, Contestations, Horizons (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2016) 199–232, available at https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt1fzhfz8.11.

17 On the issue of how our global collective mobilisation can be effective in addressing women’s issues, see J. Rami-Nogales, ‘Revisiting the Category “Women”’ in K. Ogg and S. H. Rimmer(eds.), Feminist Approaches to International Law (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2019) 240–252.

18 Lorde’s famous quote lies at the heart of her own frustrations in navigating the multiple identities and associated axes of oppression that come with her different positionalities; A. Lorde, ‘The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House’ in Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches (Berkeley, CA: Crossing Press, 1984) 110–114.

20 Table 2.1 in Chapter 2 shows a breakdown of the ‘situations’, with African cases or situations leading, followed by Asia/Pacific, Latin America and the Caribbean, and Eastern Europe.

21 For some discussion on the linkage between colonialisation and international law, see generally V. Nesiah ‘The Ground Beneath Her Feet: “Third World” Feminisms’ 4(3) Journal of International Women’s Studies (2003) 30–38; A. Mudukuti, ‘Gender Imbalance at the ICC: The Continued Hegemonic Entrenchment of Male Privilege in International Criminal Law’ in F. Jeßberger, L. Steinl, and K. Mehta (eds.), International Criminal Law – A Counter-Hegemonic Project (The Hague: T. M. C. Asser Press, 2022) 265–280.

22 For a discussion on the staffers of international courts and tribunals, see a forthcoming chapter by N. Grossman, ‘The “Invisible Court”: Gender and Nationality in Registries and Secretariats’ in N. Grossman, J. Ramji-Nogales, H. Ruiz-Fabris, and J. Dawuni (eds.), Women and International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2024).

23 These examples include the projects on the United States, Canada, Scotland, Australia, India, England, and Brazil, to name a few.

24 For some preliminary explanations on matriarchy, see generally J. Dawuni, ‘Matri-legal Feminism: An African Feminist Response to International Law’ in K. Ogg and S. H. Rimmer (eds.), Feminist Approaches to International Law (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2019) 445–462.

25 For some works on the selection of international court judges, see generally D. Terris, C. P. R. Romano, and L. Swigart, The International Judge: An Introduction to the Men and Women Who Decide the World’s Cases (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); R. Mackenzie et al., Selecting International Judges: Principle, Process and Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); For discussions that focus on the election and appointment of women judges, see L. Hodson, ‘Gender and the International Judge: Towards a Transformative Equality Approach’ 35 Leiden Journal of International Law (2022) 913–930; N. Grossman, ‘Achieving Sex-Representative International Court Benches’ 110 American Journal of International Law (2016) 82–95; H. Vauchez, ‘More Women – But Which Women? The Rule and Politics of Gender Balance at the European Court of Human Rights’ 26(1) European Journal of International Law (2015) 195–221.

26 F. Baetens (ed.), Identity and Diversity on the International Bench (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020); K. Hessler, ‘The Significance of Religious Diversity in International Human Rights Adjudication’ in F. Baetens (ed.), Identity and Diversity on the International Bench (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020).

27 J. Nosworthy, ‘Diversity, Inclusion, and Legitimacy in International Courts and Tribunals: Insights from Within, Perspectives from the Periphery – An Island Girl Speaks’ in F. Baetens (ed.), Identity and Diversity on the International Bench (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020) 538–556.

28 Several international judges have raised this issue in various writings, these include Patricia Wald, Gabrielle Kirk McDonald, Navi Pillya, Florence Mumba, Julia Sebutinde, and Akua Kuenyehia. For the latter group, it was also the issue of their race they had to confront.

29 See the cases: Prosecutor v, Dragoljub Kunarac, Radomir Kovac, and Zoran Vukovic (IT-96-23-T); Kunarac et al. (IT-96-23 & 23/1); Prosecutor v. Anto Furundzija (IT-95-17/1); Trial Judgment, Prosecutor v. Jean-Paul Akayesu (ICTR-96-4-T)1 June 2001; Judgment on Appeal, Armed Forces Revolutionary Council Trial, Appeals Chamber (2008) Trial Chamber II, AFRC Judgment, Separate Concurring Opinion, 2007.

30 See supra Footnote note 4.

31 See B. J. Crawford et al., ‘Teaching with Feminist Judgments: A Global Conversation’ 38(1) Law and Inequality (2020) 1–67, available at https://digitalcommons.pace.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2149&context=lawfaculty

32 See the functions of the registry at www.aba-icc.org/about-the-icc/structure-of-the-icc/.

33 Persisting allegations of abuse of authority, sexual harassment, and other forms of discrimination led to the study and report by the ICC in 2022. See The Registry, ‘Addressing Discrimination, Harassment, including Sexual Harassment, and Abuse of Authority’, available at www.icc-cpi.int/sites/default/files/2022-05/ICC-AI-2022-003%20%28ENG%29%20-%20ADDRESSING%20DISCRIMINATION%2C%20HARASSMENT%2C%20INCLUDING%20SEXUAL%20HARASSMENT%2C%20AND%20ABUSE%20OF%20AUTHORITY.pdf.

34 IRMCT refers to the International Residual Mechanisms for Criminal Tribunals.

35 The concept of double consciousness was developed and popularised by African American scholar W. E. B. Dubois in his 1903 book the Soul of Black Folks. It raises the question of how one navigates between two dominant identities of being black and white and the challenges that come with both sides requiring a consciousness on both identities. The concept has since been developed by other scholars to include multiple identities, thereby leading to the phrase ‘multiple consciousness’; see generally, D. D. Bruce, Jr., ‘W. E. B. Du Bois and the Idea of Double Consciousness’ 64(2) A Journal of Literary History, Criticism, and Bibliography (1992) 299–309; M. Matsuda, ‘When the First Quail Calls: Multiple Consciousness as Jurisprudential Method’ 7(9) Women’s Rights Law Report (1989) 297–300; P. Giddings, When and Where I Enter: The Impact of Black Women on Race and Sex in America (New York: W. Morrow, 1984); N. Welang, ‘Triple Consciousness: The Reimagination of Black Female Identities in Contemporary American Culture’ 2 Open Cultural Studies (2018) 296–306.

36 For a discussion of doing intersectional research, see J. Esposito and V. Evans-Winters, Introduction to Intersectional Qualitative Research (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2021); A. Carastathis, ‘The Invisibility of Privilege: A Critique of Intersectional Models of Identity’ 3(2) Les Ateliers de l’Ethique (2008) 23–38; C. A. MacKinnon, ‘Intersectionality as Method: A Note’ 38(4) Signs (2013) 1019–1030.

7 Intersectional Approaches to Investigating and Prosecuting Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes Speech Delivered at ‘The International Criminal Court at Twenty: Reflections on the Past, Present and the Future’ Conference Marking the Twentieth Anniversary of the Entry into Force of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, The Hague, 1 July 2022

1 Columbia Law School, ‘Kimberlé W. Crenshaw, Isidor and Seville Sulzbacher Professor of Law’, available at www.law.columbia.edu/faculty/kimberle-w-crenshaw.

2 The Office of the Prosecutor, ‘Policy Paper on Sexual and Gender-Based Crimes’, Policy Paper, June 2014, § 19, available at www.icc-cpi.int/sites/default/files/iccdocs/otp/OTP-Policy-Paper-on-Sexual-and-Gender-Based-Crimes--June-2014.pdf.

3 P. G. Min, ‘Korean “Comfort Women”: The Intersection of Colonial Power, Gender, and Class’ 17(6) Gender and Society (2003) 938–957.

4 Ms. Mirsada Malagić, T. 1983-84, Prosecutor v. Radislav Krstić (IT-98-33-T).

5 Judgment, Krstic (IT-98-3-T), Trial Chamber, 2 August 2001, § 2.

6 A report by the International Truth and Justice Project Sri Lanka, an NGO that documents conflict-related sexual violence and torture in Sri Lanka, focuses on sexual violence against mostly Tamil men and boys. It contains a narrative analysis of the experiences of more than 100 male victims of sexual violence by the state security forces in Sri Lanka in 2014–2018. Most were detained and abused multiple times. See H. Touquet, Unsilenced: Male Survivors Speak of Conflict-Related Sexual Violence in Sri Lanka (International Truth and Justice Project, 2018), available at www.itjpsl.com/assets/ITJP_unsilenced_report-final.pdf.

Figure 0

Table 2.1 Rewritten judgments in this book, by situation and case

Figure 1

Table 2.2 ICC situations and cases as of October 2023

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  • Conceptual Approach
  • Edited by Kcasey McLoughlin, The University of Newcastle, Australia, Rosemary Grey, University of Sydney, Louise Chappell, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Suzanne Varrall, University of New South Wales, Sydney
  • Book: Feminist Judgments: Reimagining the International Criminal Court
  • Online publication: 20 July 2025
  • Chapter DOI: https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009255271.007
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  • Conceptual Approach
  • Edited by Kcasey McLoughlin, The University of Newcastle, Australia, Rosemary Grey, University of Sydney, Louise Chappell, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Suzanne Varrall, University of New South Wales, Sydney
  • Book: Feminist Judgments: Reimagining the International Criminal Court
  • Online publication: 20 July 2025
  • Chapter DOI: https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009255271.007
Available formats
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  • Conceptual Approach
  • Edited by Kcasey McLoughlin, The University of Newcastle, Australia, Rosemary Grey, University of Sydney, Louise Chappell, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Suzanne Varrall, University of New South Wales, Sydney
  • Book: Feminist Judgments: Reimagining the International Criminal Court
  • Online publication: 20 July 2025
  • Chapter DOI: https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009255271.007
Available formats
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